


Eventide

by ohgodmyeyes



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Caregiving, Darth Vader Lives, Darth Vader Needs a Hug, Death, Dependency, Depression, Dreams, F/M, Fear, Force-Sensitive Reader, Good Intentions, Hate, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, Love, Meandering Emotional Vomit, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Medicine, Memories, Mistakes, Needles, Pain, Reader-Insert, Redeemed Darth Vader, Regret, Romance, Slow Burn, Suitless Darth Vader, The Force, Vignettes, Violence, physical deterioration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:08:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 49
Words: 57,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24006367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohgodmyeyes/pseuds/ohgodmyeyes
Summary: Luke Skywalker dragged his dying father from the impending wreckage of the second Death Star, and— in what he thought was an act of utmost kindness— saved his life.However, after more than two decades encased in diamond-like polymers, unyielding durasteel, and his former Master’s half-truths, Anakin Skywalker is quite unused to seeing things with his own eyes. His continued existence is a secret; of those who know he still lives, only his son trusts him.The damage wrought against his long-broken body is now all but irreparable, and his medical needs are extensive and complex.You are a Force-sensitive, highly-educated young woman identified and recruited by the very last Jedi Knight to care for and protect his ailing parent... but, what makes him think you’ll have better luck than the droids the former Sith Lord keeps destroying in his fits of guilt and rage?Perhaps the answer to that is buried beneath the charred remnant of Darth Vader’s heart.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker/Reader, Darth Vader & Luke Skywalker, Darth Vader/Reader
Comments: 1021
Kudos: 1000





	1. An Appeal

**Author's Note:**

> This _has_ a plot, but it isn’t necessarily plot-driven. It’s just going to sit here & be added to over time for anyone else who might, for whatever reason, want the experience of trying to develop a tenuous relationship with a sickly, badly-damaged old piece of Sith.

“He can chew, and swallow too,” he said, “but he doesn’t. I’ll make sure you have all the nutritional supplements you need to keep him healthy; he’ll usually tell you when he needs a fresh infusion.”

You were a healer, or you had been at one point. Since the fall of the Empire months ago, you’d felt a little bit as though you had been floating in a void: No specific role to fill; nothing much to call yourself. Nowhere, really, to be either... until, that is, you’d met a man named Luke Skywalker. 

He was younger than you, although not by very much. He had first approached you with an air of seriousness; however, you felt in him a distinct naiveté, combined with a sense of fresh hopefulness. He was well-known by this point as both the last remaining Jedi, and a hero of the newly-victorious Resistance; however, he had come to you quite earnestly— almost humbly.

It made you more willing than you might otherwise have been to help him; however, you hadn’t anticipated the nature of the assignment he had in store.

“Does he like tea?” you asked.

“Huh?” Luke seemed confused.

“I have tea— all kinds of it; something different from every planet I’ve visited. People like your father tend to respond well to it,” you told him, which was true. “Do you know where he might have spent time in his youth?” 

You didn’t know much of anything about Darth Vader, really, except that he had been a ruthless symbol of the Empire’s iron grip on the galaxy for nearly as long as you had been alive. His son, however, assured you that the masked emblem of fascism you’d envisioned at the mere mention of his name was as good as dead: ‘Anakin Skywalker’ was supposedly all that remained; an apparently broken husk of a once-great warrior. 

Luke had informed you, in fact, that his father was now barely being kept alive by the machines on the small ship in which he’d been deposited for safekeeping after the Battle of Endor. It was currently situated on the unpopulated moon of a far-flung world, in the midst of a very dense forest. One thing you did happen to know about Darth Vader was that, throughout the Empire’s reign, he himself had forced many into hiding— but, you didn’t dare point out to his son the cruel irony inherent in his current predicament.

A look came upon Luke’s face; almost a nervous one. “He travelled a lot,” he answered you, “but, I don’t want him dwelling on his past.”

You smiled despite yourself. “You might be surprised— I’m sure he’s had better days than—”

Luke shook his head and cut you off, “Don’t bother with the tea— okay? Anyway, with everything I’m going to need you to be doing for him, you won’t have time for tea.”

“Do you have medical droids, then? In case I come in need of assistance?”

With eyes cast downward, “Yes, but... he... well... _he destroys those_ — and I can only fix so many of them at once.”

You chuckled, “What makes you think he won’t destroy me, too?” You knew enough to be more concerned about that than you were allowing yourself to betray with your outward demeanour.

Vader’s son looked back up; narrowed his icy gaze at you. “He’s not a monster— you’re _alive_ , and I know he’ll respect that.” 

Again, you didn’t say so out loud, but the man for whom you had agreed to provide care did not have a reputation for respecting life. What had changed about him, in the aftermath of the explosion he’d survived? 

“Besides that,” continued Luke, “you’re strong with the Force; it’s how I found you. He’ll feel that, too.”

You hoped he was correct. You’d always had the Force as your ally; for as long as you could remember, you’d been able to harness it— rudimentarily, at least. Your parents, however, had kept you to themselves in spite of your power: They had told you that the Jedi were not to be trusted as they’d once been, in earlier times. You had been raised to strongly detest abuses of power; aside from not trusting Jedi, your own deeply-held convictions had made you highly skeptical of the Empire’s rule as well. The mere existence of elevated positions, in fact, served to make you wary.

Luke hardly exuded the sort of complacent, self-righteous aloofness you would have expected of a Jedi Knight; anyway, you _had_ desperately been seeking a job to do— a place to be.

“What does he prefer to be called now?” you asked, ignoring the younger Skywalker’s pointed evaluation of your abilities. 

He looked taken off-guard by your question. “I— well, I call him ‘father’.” He seemed to think for a moment. “...Nobody else speaks to him,” he confessed. “I... I don’t know what he’ll want to be called.”

“I suppose I’ll have to ask, then,” you said, and at that you felt a rough bump: You were riding aboard a small-yet-nimble little starship of Luke’s right now; you were travelling quickly, and by yourselves. 

You had just begun to pass through the thin atmosphere of the moon on which the man formerly known as Darth Vader was being kept away from those who still wanted him dead. 

As the trees concealing his hiding place came into view, you couldn’t help wondering if anybody but his own son thought that the galaxy was better-off with him alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May the Fourth. ✌️


	2. Blueprints

“They’re all false,” said Luke, “and none of them work. I can’t replace the systems connecting their components to the rest of him without killing him, but they still need maintenance, or they’ll start to rot at the joints.”

The last Jedi was teaching you how to take care of his father’s recently-immobilized prosthetic limbs, as the two of you walked through the woods. You still hadn’t met your charge; however, you were fast approaching the ship which housed him. Luke spoke to you as though he believed sparing Vader’s ears the indignity of his maintenance routine as described to you might lessen the impact of his actually having to endure your performance of it.

You knew better, of course, but you didn’t say anything.

“Will he tell me if he experiences pain?” you asked, because if his son wanted him to be comfortable, then so did you. 

“I don’t know,” said Luke, as he ducked beneath a low-hanging branch. “His suit used to hurt him, but I deactivated the needles.” 

“Needles?” You deftly avoided tripping over a root.

“They collected data on his biological functions— constantly. They were useful, but excruciating. Do you remember me telling you about the panel implanted in his chest?”

“I do.” How could you have forgotten? You’d worked with and around a variety of different medical devices, but nothing quite so intricately entwined with its user than what you’d been told remained of Darth Vader’s suit. 

“Well,” said Luke, “It can do the job the needles used to do, except it has to stay connected to the computer I’ve installed in his chamber to do it. That means he can’t be moved.” He ignited his lightsaber, then; an impressive flash of bright green emanating from a sleek, durasteel handle. He used it to cut away a particularly thick section of brush growing up from the forest floor; stepped aside to allow you first passage. 

“Do you have a bacta tank for him?” You asked, as you went ahead.

“Yes, but it’s useless. I can’t disconnect him from the suit— _any_ of it— without him dying, now.”

You’d finally arrived at a clearing marked by what looked like an enormous clump of foliage; Luke had begun to pull at some of the leaves to reveal the door to his father’s little ship. He didn’t open it yet, though. Instead, he turned to look at you and continued, “Which brings me back to his joints: They’re not the only things that can go bad on him. Since he can’t soak in bacta, I have a solution for you to apply to his skin to prevent infection. Be generous with it, especially around his feeding and waste ports— I’ll make sure you don’t run out.”

You didn’t ask aloud, but you did wonder just how long Luke expected his father to be able to stay alive this way. From his description of the man’s physicality, it was difficult for you to discern where he ended and his suit began. You had seen depictions of Darth Vader before, of course; however, those menacing images were not at all congruent with the ones his son now conjured with his instructions. 

“Do you have specification sheets or blueprints for the suit’s systems?”

Luke laughed, albeit flatly. “No— everything in there is completely improvised, and more than twenty years old on top of that. If there were ever any plans for it, they’re long gone by now.”

“It was _never_ upgraded?” You were slightly incredulous— how badly-damaged had he been under there to begin with? How had it happened?

“It couldn’t be,” Luke answered.

You didn’t have to ask to know that was because to upgrade the suit would almost certainly have caused ‘Anakin’ to die. 

Was there, now, anything that _wouldn’t_ cause him to die?

After he’d finished exposing the door, Luke said to you, “He already knows I’m here— and probably that I’ve brought someone with me, too. He won’t like it, but I don’t want you to worry about that. Like I said: _he won’t hurt you._ ”

You really did hope, as you watched him open up the vessel so the two of you could enter, that the younger Skywalker was as certain as he sounded about his father’s apparently newly-acquired respect for living things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tossing up two of these chapters at once, because they’re very short, and I would be pushing my luck if I made you wait too long to meet our guy— so, go right onto chapter three, if you feel like it.


	3. Say Something

“Father?”

You’d just stepped through something akin to an airlock. Luke had explained to you during your journey that Darth Vader could not breathe regular air; hadn’t been able to survive without that infamous mask of his since it had first been applied to his face. The specialized chamber in which he currently resided was very small: The rest of the interior of the ship was taken up almost entirely by computer systems, environmental controls, and supplies; things needed to maintain his life. There were meagre washing and cooking facilities for you as well; however, not much else in the way of amenities.

You did wonder where you were supposed to sleep.

Luke had advised you prior to entering that both the mask itself and the respirator which was surgically enmeshed with his father’s organs had been badly damaged: In both the explosion they’d escaped together, and in the vicious three-way duel which had preceded it. The finely-tuned atmosphere within the ship made the mask graciously unnecessary; however, Vader’s lungs still required the assistance of his now-broken respiratory device to both take in and expel air.

_”Father.”_

The room was, again, not large. Computers and medical devices lined one wall; a narrow, steel table lined another, appearing to serve as a work area. As you stood at the entrance and peered about, you observed that every surface within view was spotlessly clean— however, the sheer amount of equipment crowding the space made it feel cluttered. 

Finally:

“Who... did you... _bring?_ ”

The voice came in barely a whisper, from a supine figure positioned at the very centre of everything. He was propped up on a metal gurney at a slight angle; there was a pillow (or something like one) tucked behind his head, and what looked to be a thin pad rolled out beneath him, presumably to lessen the impact of his bed upon what was left of his body. 

“Someone to help, father,” answered Luke kindly.

“You said... that you were retrieving... a _droid._ ”

Luke stepped up next to where his parent was laying; waved you over with his hand.

“You know I can’t fix any more droids,” he said pointedly. Then, with a smile you admired him for being able to urge across his face, he leaned in and added, “Anyway, she’s better company than a droid. I know you don’t like it when I have to go away.”

‘Anakin’ went silent as you approached, save for the unsteady rasp of his laboured breathing. Again, you had seen Darth Vader depicted before; in pictures, and in holograms. As it turned out, those likenesses bore little resemblance to the man to whom you were being introduced right now— you were grateful not to have to speak to his mask, but also somewhat jarred by the appearance of his face. 

The skin on one side of it was very heavily scarred; besides that, its pallor was as stark as any you’d ever seen on a human being. A particularly angry-looking lesion running across his bare scalp stood out to you, and his brow was knitted at the centre— with pain, you thought, although he could very well also have felt frightened, or angry. It was very difficult to tell. You had been told his age; however, he looked far older than that.

Perhaps most of all, his appearance was— like everything else about him thus far— so very different from what you’d expected that you weren’t quite sure how you should respond to it.

“Hello,” you said anyway, and you gave him a name by which he could call you.

You barely glimpsed his eyes before they closed; shut you out of his field of vision. His lids seemed to tremble, which didn’t surprise you: Breathing alone must have been an exertion, and to glance over his body was to know that he— likely constantly— experienced some measure of pain. You wondered, briefly, what his son was trying to achieve by preserving him this way; however, you certainly didn’t ask.

“Father, say something.”

He didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” said Luke, standing back up straight to look at you. “Sometimes he... well, he falls silent.” He told you this as if to assure you that your presence was not necessarily the reason for his parent’s poor manners.

“That’s alright; I understand,” you said, and you did. 

After that— since he couldn’t see you doing it— you allowed your eyes to linger on Vader’s face and form. The remains of his suit were somewhat familiar-looking to you; however, with his mask gone, the sheer obviousness of its mechanical composition stood out. Luke appeared to have removed parts of it; panels around the box housing his chest computer seemed to be missing, and pieces of what you now recognized as a heavy, plasticized girdle were absent from around his abdomen. His cape had been detached from him, and every chunk of exposed skin you could see housed either a tubed port (for food or waste), or a wired sensor (to monitor his other biological functions).

You knew that he’d once worn a belt; Luke had informed you that it housed various controls and manual overrides for his different life support functions. You also knew that it had been discarded, and that the equipment crowding the edges of the room now performed most of its former functions. You supposed that was a good thing, at least for Vader himself: No part of what he’d ever worn— or had to wear now— looked comfortable.

“...He’ll get used to you,” Luke told you, and he almost sounded as if he actually did believe himself.

“We’ll get used to each other,” you offered in return, knowing that you seemed much less sure.

The man in the remnant of the suit only sighed weakly.

You realized, now, that you hoped Luke was planning on staying— long enough, at least, for you and his father to start the process of becoming accustomed to one another’s presence. The hopeful young Jedi, after all, seemed quite serious about keeping him alive... which meant that if you did your job correctly, you could end up being here quite a while.

Again, part of you didn’t understand just what it was he hoped to accomplish, here— however, it was not your job to muse about the quality of his loved one’s life.

You had, after all, already accepted the task of maintaining it.


	4. Lunch

_”Do you understand everything I showed you?_

_”Everything— you won’t have to worry about him while you’re gone.”_

_”I’ll connect with you again as soon as I can, then. I have a lot of work to do, and as much as I want to be here, I can’t be; not right now. I’m trusting you— **please take good care of my father.** ”_

_”I will, Luke. I promise.”_

...

You’d let your mind wander back to your final exchange with Darth Vader’s son prior to his departure from the moon’s surface. He had not stayed for as long as you’d have hoped; indeed, he’d left as soon as he had become confident in your ability to manage his father’s daily routine. Over the course of twenty-four standard hours, there were a number of steps which needed to be taken in order to perpetuate his existence. You were familiar with almost all of them individually; however, you’d never had to perform quite so many different procedures on a single person at one time. If you’d been of a more cynical disposition, you might have thought Vader to be more macabre training mannequin than patient. 

Fortunately for the both of you, you weren’t quite so disillusioned as that.

Presently, you were performing maintenance on his intravenous feeding apparatus. The section of tubing through which he was fed needed to be replaced daily to prevent infection; the skin around its entry port also had to be carefully washed. After that, the entire area had to be slathered in a bacta-based solution. 

The tube connected to a catheter, which had already been threaded into one of his larger veins through an incision close to his collarbone. Accessing it, at least, was easy: Luke had removed the armour which had once encased his shoulders; peeled away the layers underneath to expose him from his neck to the top of the box set into his chest. Again, the ashen hue of his skin jarred you; besides that, the scarring on his torso was infinitely worse than that on his face. Most of his skin looked like dampened, wadded paper; it made you grateful that you hadn’t been the droid tasked with locating his vein. You hoped you wouldn’t end up having to do that particular job yourself for any reason, any time soon.

“No signs of infection,” you murmured to yourself, as you extracted the spent feeding tube and reached for a sterile wipe with which to clean the skin around his port.

His breathing seemed to change before you could begin. You pulled your head back from his chest; looked at his face. His eyes were closed: They were almost always closed, as far as you knew. He nearly never looked at you, nor did he speak— you’d been alone with him for a number of standard days by now, in fact, and you’d not heard his voice since Luke had gone. The silence tended to make the hours drag by more slowly.

You didn’t hear him now, either— only the tinny sound of the broken respirator beneath him combined with the harsh rasp of air entering and exiting his lungs.

“Are you alright?” you asked, and of course he didn’t answer you.

Worried that perhaps he couldn’t, you rose from your chair, and peered up at the screens connected to the computer systems which both surrounded and permeated him. Luke had taught you how to interpret their data; had shown you his father’s baseline readings, and what types of changes constituted intervention.

Right now he wasn’t getting enough air, in spite of the room being highly saturated with extra oxygen. His heart rate had slowed, and his body temperature...

_His body temperature._

Already on your feet, you paced to the edge of the room; fiddled with a dial. When you came back to your chair to complete your work on the feeding port, you said to him, “You can tell me if you get too cold, you know.” 

He didn’t respond; as you cleaned your own hands and proceeded to wipe the skin around his incision, you continued in an attempt to make conversation, “Your son says you grew up where it was very warm.”

You retrieved a new, sterile length of tubing; connected it with utmost care to the line running into his vein. He still did not speak.

“He said there were two suns,” you tried. “I’ve never visited a planet with two suns.”

You started to spread the bacta solution onto the skin surrounding his port; you felt his chest tense up at that. The room already felt warmer to you, and Vader’s breathing seemed to be recovering some of its depth. You glanced up at the display screen; to your relief, the rest of his body looked to be regaining some of its composure as well. You ought to have known what was wrong right away; you knew that to regulate his own temperature was beyond his physical abilities.

Because he was still quiet, you told him as you finished with the disinfectant, “There— now we can have something to eat.” You even managed to smile at him before rising once more to retrieve a fresh bag of liquid food... even though he didn’t open his eyes.

Your smile faded as you turned away; the only noise in the room besides that generated by your own movement were the laborious sounds of Darth Vader, and his life-preserving machinery.


	5. Who’s There?

It was early-morning (or, it _felt_ like early-morning, anyhow), and you had just woken from a fragile sleep. All of your sleep, these days, was fragile: You rested either in your chair, or on the floor beside your patient’s bed; always with a listening ear trained on the equipment surrounding you.

This was likely part of the reason why, as the days had gone by, you’d found yourself coming better into tune with the energy in the room. The more contact you had with Vader, the more you also seemed to be able to get a read on the less tangible parts of his essence. It made things easier for you, which in turn made things easier for him: You did a bit less fiddling with dials, now; spent fewer minutes staring at monitors over the course of each day.

You appreciated the effort this spared you; however, ‘Anakin’ still did not speak. Not only did this mean that you remained uncertain as to what you should actually call him; it also meant that you had more time to sit in silence together.

That quiet, again, seemed to make time slow to a crawl.

“How was your sleep?” you asked fruitlessly, as you sat up straight and stretched your arms. “Mine was alright,” you went on when you were met with predictable silence, “but this chair leaves a bit to be desired.”

After shaking off the effects of having been unconscious, you got up and leaned over his bed. You looked down at the bag connected to his bladder catheter, which was always the first thing you checked upon waking. It was similar to the one you used to feed him; however, there were no veins involved, here: It simply entered his body through a small incision in his abdomen, and drained most of the waste generated by his intravenous feed. 

Whatever had happened to him which had necessitated that he wear his suit in the first place had also utterly decimated the lower-half of him, it seemed— and ever since the explosion from which his son had rescued him, the suit itself was doing less for his body than it ever had. Since it couldn’t be adequately repaired without risking his life, you had taken on most of its former tasks.

Right now, the bladder bag was full, which was fine— in fact, you had to go, too.

Before you could, however, you were required to take the same steps in caring for this incision as for the one through which he ‘ate’. You didn’t suffer for having to do so; the process had become near-automatic with how many times you’d already done it. Anyhow, it was much easier and took significantly less finesse to simply drain a fluid from a hole than to force it the opposite way through a vein.

Once you’d attached a fresh, sterile tube and empty bag to the waste port, you told him, “I’ll be right back,” because you always reassured him when you had to leave the space for any reason. You didn’t know whether it mattered to him or not, but you weren’t going to take a chance on that: You had no desire to upset him.

Again, you had to enter and exit the room through an airlock in order to maintain its atmosphere. Not too much was on your mind as you stepped out into the forest with the morning’s refuse; you liked to be outside, but you always worried about what might happen to Vader in your absence. That made it difficult to appreciate the natural beauty of the forest around you while you uncovered the deep ditch you’d been using to conceal your rubbish.

Having thrown in the bag, you made use of the receptacle yourself; after you’d done that, you took a very deep breath and— in spite of your anxiety— peered upward. There was light coming through the thick canopy of trees above you; it looked like early-morning as much as it felt like it. The air was still, cool, and damp, and while it might have been deadly to the man inside the ship, it was certainly pleasant to you.

Somewhat unexpectedly, this observation inspired a sharp pang of guilt: The very simple pleasure of enjoying the air outdoors was one not available to Vader, was it?

_It’s been so long that I hardly miss it._

“Who’s there?” you asked aloud, because the voice was barely familiar to you, given how few times you’d actually heard it. Besides that— although it was not loud— it was notably missing its characteristic, strangled rasp. You couldn’t even rightly tell if it was coming from your own head, from the ship itself, or from behind one of the surrounding trees.

 _Nobody who wasn’t here before,_ the voice answered you. 

By now, of course, you knew exactly whose it was; however, you weren’t sure how he was projecting it at you this way. Was this something he could do with the Force? Your own abilities were unrefined; you’d never spoken to anyone who was not physically present in quite so direct a manner before. 

“Thank you for saying something,” you said, because it really was a relief to hear him.

 _I felt the need,_ he answered, _to apologize for my son’s conduct._

You didn’t know where to look, so you simply looked up at what you could see of the sky again as you assured him, “Luke has been nothing but kind to me.”

_That’s because he takes after his mother— but it isn’t what I meant._

“Then what—?”

_He should have left me._

You understood. “I don’t think he could—”

_**I told him to leave me.** _

“Your son loves you.”

 _It is not always wise to be motivated by love,_ said Vader into your mind, and you could certainly see the logic in that. You were about to say something to it, but before you could, he asked, _What did Luke promise you in exchange for keeping me alive?_

You hesitated. Finally, you confessed, “...He said he would teach me.”

_Teach you what?_

“How to better harness the Force.” 

Luke had, in fact, made you just such a promise— however, that wasn’t necessarily what had gotten you to agree to help him. It had been, rather, the earnestness of his request coupled with his obvious love for his father which had done that; the notion that he might help you to strengthen your bond with the Force was, quite simply, a bonus. Again, your parents had never trusted Jedi— and growing up primarily in the aftermath of the Emperor’s great ‘reorganization’, you never thought you’d meet one, anyway.

 _I see,_ said Vader, and then there was only silence; the same kind you’d grown used to sharing with him in the time since coming here.

You shook your head, and looked around; you almost felt as if you were coming back from somewhere. The forest was utterly quiet, save for the odd chirp of a native bird, and you felt quite distinctly as though you were alone again.

Once you’d taken a moment to gather yourself, you covered the ditch with brush and and turned back toward the ship. You wondered if Vader would decide to make a habit of speaking to you this way; were also curious as to why he’d waited until you were away from him to do it. Perhaps, you thought, he was ashamed of the level of care he required; likely, he resented receiving it to begin with.

If that was the case, you couldn’t really blame him— but, again, it wasn’t up to you to decide what should or should not be done in the interest of keeping Darth Vader alive: You’d been given a job to do, and you intended to do it.

You hoped firstly that he would understand, and secondly that he might find it within himself to continue speaking with you— particularly if to do so through his mind did not cause him any additional pain or distress.

Whether he realized it or not, he’d just made the little moon on which you were stranded together seem much less desolate than it had when you’d first arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is burning kind of slow, I guess, but I really like writing it. Thank you for being here.


	6. Sleep

Vader didn’t speak to you again for the duration of that day; neither with his mind, nor with his voice. Your brief contact with him in the morning, however, had been a comfort— since Luke had left, after all, you’d only had yourself to talk to. You appreciated that your patient had made you feel a bit less disconnected; told him so as you finished preparing him to rest late that night.

“Thank you again,” you said as you sat down beside him, “for saying something today.” 

You’d taken to lining your chair up with the bed in which he’d been set out so that if you leaned back in it, you were essentially laying parallel with him. It afforded you easy access to the most vital of the equipment in the room, and also allowed you to closely monitor his breathing. 

You did this now; looked up at the ceiling alongside him (of course, his eyes were still shut), and added to your expression of gratitude, “I hope it didn’t take too much out of you to speak with me that way.” You paused; then, “...I actually didn’t know you could do that with the Force.”

Met with continued silence, you closed your own eyes; let the hiss of the respirator blend with the low, mechanical hum of the computers. You breathed and listened for what felt like a very long time; finally, you let yourself begin to relax.

Suddenly— breathlessly, and almost inaudibly— “The power... of the Force... is _endless._ ”

You pulled your eyes open, and turned your head in his direction. It was surprising (albeit not unpleasant) to hear his voice; particularly the one he had to go to the trouble of generating physically. 

“‘Endless’?” you echoed simply, in the hope of prompting him to say more.

He remained motionless; kept his eyes closed. Still, he still answered you, “It is limited only... by our own... _weaknesses_.” He coughed after that; you nearly rose to assist him, but he seemed to recover before you could.

You studied his face for a moment; decided to venture cautiously, “...Your son told me that you were once a very powerful Jedi.” You didn’t also ask what had happened to make him a galactic dictator instead; however, the question was implied with your statement.

“I certainly... _thought_ I was,” he said, after which you waited for him to tell you more... but, he didn’t.

“You were mistaken, then?” 

Your parents had frequently spoken of the Jedi with disdain: To hear them tell it, a Jedi Knight was simply a man or woman who wielded a powerful weapon, and believed they knew better than anyone else. Had ‘Anakin’ been like that? 

Given who he became, you supposed it wasn’t inconceivable.

He didn’t confirm for you one way or another— in fact, he stopped saying anything altogether, as was his habit.

Eventually, you turned your gaze away from him; trained it back on the ceiling as you let the respirator’s harsh wheeze meld once more with gentle buzz generated by the other machines.

You fell asleep wondering when you would hear him speak again.


	7. Minor Surgery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is new as of 05/17; the next one is not. I slipped it in here both because I think Reader’s anxiety/frustration needs a bit more time to build, and because I just wasn’t comfortable with the aesthetic of two tiny chapters sitting back-to-back.
> 
> Part of the challenge of telling this particular story is that it started with me writing a whole bunch of these little ‘chapters’ compulsively & completely out of order. It’s a narrative I’m highly motivated to share, but it’s also a little bit like a puzzle I’m putting together.
> 
> I will try not to screw up too much.

As it turned out, there was a disadvantage inherent in coming into tune with Darth Vader’s energy— and that disadvantage was that you always, _always_ knew when he was in pain. Typically this knowledge would have been useful to you, as a healer: Identifying someone’s discomfort was almost always the first step toward easing it, in your experience. 

With him, however, there truly _was_ no easing it. It might be controlled or tempered, or better on some days than others; however, you were finding that your initial evaluation of his overall condition had been unfortunately quite accurate: Vader was constantly in some form of pain.

“I’m sorry,” you said one afternoon, as you bent over his legs. You were just about to begin the process of removing a few bits of flesh at his knee joints which had started to take on a necrotic appearance. It wasn’t your favourite job by any means, and you suspected he didn’t much care for it, either— however, it had to be done. 

You glanced up at his face before you began, because you always did. Right now you could tell that he’d tensed himself in anticipation of your first incision; his eyes were tightly shut, and the tendons in his neck pulled tight. You’d given him an infusion to combat pain; you did that every time you had to cut into him, but it never really seemed to do much to help.

“It’s not quite as bad this time— I should be finished soon,” you said reassuringly, as you placed a hand on the part of his leg that was still made of him. Once you knew he was steady, you began to slice at the base of a dark, sickly-looking ridge of flesh which grew out from where his prosthesis had been fused with his knee. His years-old synthetic skin, it seemed, did not co-operate well with what nature had graciously allowed him to keep. 

One thing you’d learned about Vader during your time together (besides the extent of his physical pain) was that he was— if absolutely nothing else— incredibly stoic. He never shouted (not that he could, precisely, shout); never wrenched at your tools or destroyed your equipment, as Luke had warned he sometimes might.

You pulled the first chunk of dead skin away from his body; deposited it in a small container you’d set aside on the floor for the specific purpose of gathering the fruits of your present effort. You’d dispose of it all when you were finished by tossing it into the same ditch you used to get rid of anything and everything else you didn’t need here.

Before you allowed your knife to make contact with his flesh again, you peered up at his face once more. He remained utterly still; momentarily, you allowed yourself to marvel at his seemingly all-encompassing forebeance. Was that something the Force did for him, too? 

Vader’s necrosis took on the appearance of the raised border of an infected ulcer; it was primarily shades of purple and red. Some areas of it, however, tended toward progressing rather quickly to a dark, inky black. It was one of these pieces you opted to removed next. Again, you cut into the base and sliced it off as quickly and accurately as you could before dropping it into the bucket; also again, the man to whom it had been attached did not react.

You repeated these steps several times; eventually, you’d rid his knees entirely of the diseased portions of his flesh— there’d been enough of it that, upon finishing, you observed that the bottom of the receptacle you’d been using to collect it was no longer visible. You cared for and cleaned the fresh wounds with which the procedure had left him, and then suppressed a sigh as you very carefully laid a sheet over his lower half. You could (without asking him, and without looking at the monitors) tell that he’d begun to feel cold.

Darth Vader did not like to feel cold.

“I know you don’t _need_ to,” you told him, “but I meant it when I said you could tell me when you weren’t warm enough.” 

You replaced your hand on his leg briefly once again, this time through the sheet, before crossing the room to adjust the ambient temperature. His pain seemed to be ebbing off; subsiding as much as it ever did, anyway. You wanted him to feel as though he could trust you enough to communicate his needs to you; this was for the sake of your own comfort nearly as much as it was his: Perhaps _he_ didn’t mind the persistent silence, but you had never said so few words over the course of so much time. 

This would be easier on the both of you, you thought, if he would only open his mouth... or, because you knew he was capable of using it to speak to you, perhaps his mind.

As you began the process of cleaning up after your work on his knees, you experimented with attempting to channel some of Vader’s own apparently infinite patience— if it helped him through his pain, after all, then maybe it could assist in quelling some of your anxiety as well.


	8. Refuse

Vader’s high level of vulnerability to infection necessitated that almost nothing which came into direct contact with his body be reused. Tubes, cloths, sensors, bags, syringes, feeding equipment, and other items that could not be adequately cleaned had to be disposed of both frequently, and entirely.

This meant that your ditch outside was filling up, and filling up fast.

“I might be gone for a while this time,” you warned him early one morning, after you’d been through your routine. 

He said nothing in return, which was still typical.

“I won’t be far away,” you continued anyhow, “but I need to dig a new hole for our garbage.” 

More silence, as you gathered a pack with some water, along with a food ration (you didn’t actually know how long you would be).

 _Fine,_ you thought to yourself. _It’s not as if I have much of anything else to do except keep trying._

You were aware that part of your growing frustration with Vader’s lack of willingness to communicate stemmed from the fact that you knew he could have, if only he’d wanted to. Being by yourself with him in his current condition, it was very easy to forget who he had been before you’d met him. Forgetting made you want to get to know him better; however, he wasn’t letting you do that. If he would, you thought, perhaps it might help you both.

You still weren’t even sure quite what to call him— you’d been resorting to ‘Sir’ because neither ‘Anakin’ nor ‘Lord Vader’ seemed quite fitting; not right now. One or the other might very well have suited him more, but there was truly no way for you to know which... and so, you refrained from them both.

Because you thought it was worth it to remind him, the last thing you said on your way into the airlock was that you’d come right back inside if he needed you for any reason. The part of you that wanted to get to know him hoped he might call on you for something; anything— no matter what it was.

The part of you whose cynicism was slowly festering due to your isolation, however, simply thought (in spite of everything you did for him every day) that Darth Vader never actually ‘needed’ you... and also that he very likely never would.


	9. Right Now

_No. No! No, no, no, no, no..._

If you’d thought the anxiety you had been experiencing in the room with Vader as a result of his silence had been bad, then you’d clearly had no concept of how much worse it could actually get.

You had been outside for a few hours by this point, with nearly four feet of ditch and not a word from the man inside of the ship. You knew that this meant he was safe: If anything had gone desperately wrong with him, you were certain you’d reached a point in your ability to sense his energy that you would have felt it. Right now, you wondered if he happened to be at all aware of the predicament in which you found yourself.

You cursed, grimaced in pain, and tugged the leg of your pants up as much as you could in an effort to discern how much of your own right foot you’d just crushed. The rock now sitting atop it hadn’t seemed nearly as precarious as it obviously had been; it had been sticking out of the wall of your ditch, and you’d barely noticed it until it had fallen on you. It had almost certainly broken several tiny bones, and it was far too heavy for you to even begin to heave it off of yourself from your current position.

The thought entered your mind that you should call out for assistance, but who would have heard you? They lifted your spirits in the mornings; however, the birds in the trees above you wouldn’t have been of any help, even if they’d been able to understand your plea. Vader himself would never have been able to hear you with his ears through the many layers of steel comprising the ship; even if he’d been able to sense your dilemma through the Force, what would he have been able to do?

_He needs to eat soon._

The thought invaded your mind very suddenly, and the panic it inspired dwarfed that instilled by either the pain in your foot, or the terror of being trapped in a hole in the woods. If you didn’t get out of here, Luke Skywalker’s father was going to starve to death— and it would be entirely your fault.

...It was actually more likely that a lack of hydration would kill him rather than a lack of nutrition, you realized, but given your current circumstance, that was really just a technicality. You imagined the bag of liquid food you’d attached to him that morning draining; emptying itself into his vein and leaving him with nothing. You pictured his mouth going dry, his eyes beginning to sting, and his already badly-damaged skin starting to pucker for a lack of anything to drink.

You’d never abandoned someone who’d been placed in your care; suddenly, too, you mused about the potential for him to become cold and frightened. What if he thought you’d left him on purpose, as he slowly faded? That notion filled you with a unique sort of dread.

You weren’t positioned adequately to use your shovel as a lever, and so you began to try to kick at the rock with your free foot. All that seemed to do, though, was to make it hurt more. You tried to claw at the bottom of it with your fingers, but succeeded only in breaking your nails. 

Tears were starting to gather in your eyes, and you’d nearly chewed through your own bottom lip entirely in your panic when you became desperate and frustrated enough to draw back your fist.

Just as you were about to punch the rock, however, you heard a voice in your head which quite distinctly did not belong to you.

_Striking that with your fist is almost certain to break your hand. Do you need a broken hand **and** a broken foot?_

You halted your hand; stopped it cold in the air. Breathing raggedly by this point, you (entirely futilely, you knew) looked up at the trees. “If I don’t get out of here,” you said to Vader, “you’re going to die.” 

_I think you are aware that I would not necessarily object to that._

“Your son would,” you pointed out. “If he comes back and finds you dead, he’ll—“

_He will kill you— whether he means to or not. I know that already._

Neither of you was speaking figuratively. You were quite certain that if Luke were to find you had failed his father, you would face his wrath. Especially given the elder Skywalker’s previous occupation, you had absolutely no desire to draw his son’s ire.

 _However,_ continued Vader, _if you remain trapped beneath that rock, you will die before he ever arrives._

You knew he was right. At that point, the image of the both of you laying dead only meters apart from one another on this desolate little moon permeated your brain. Somehow, the thought of withering to death under a rock seemed much worse than getting hacked to pieces by the last Jedi’s lightsaber.

You began once more to cry.

_Crying will not free your foot. You’re only wasting energy which would be better put to use devising an escape._

Any other time, you’d have appreciated him speaking with you. Presently, however, his words only served to inflame your already-heightened emotions. 

You shouted at him, “What do you expect me to do?! _I’m stuck here._ ” Perhaps you shouldn’t have, but mired in your own pain and frustration you pointed out to him, “It isn’t as if you’re about to walk out here and pull this thing off of me, is it?!”

He went silent then, and for a moment you thought you’d upset him enough that he had decided to cease communicating with you altogether.

Soon enough, though, _Why can’t **you** move the rock?_

Was he stupid? You certainly hadn’t thought so, but... “It’s too heavy! All I can make it do is scrape up my foot.”

_Did you already forget what I told you?_

You almost laughed, in spite of everything. “You don’t tell me very much!”

He simply repeated his own words from weeks ago: _The power of the Force is **endless.**_

You almost started to cry again. “What has that got to do with anything?” you demanded.

Immediately, _It has almost everything to do with your current problem._

 _”What are you talking about?!”_ No one had ever trained you in the Force. All you knew about it was that it had helped you throughout the course of your life with things such as foresight and intuition, and that it didn’t appear to be with most other people in quite the same way that it seemed to be with you. Again, besides Luke Skywalker, you had never met a Jedi— or a Sith, for that matter; or anyone else like them.

You had no concept of how the Force could possibly help you here.

 _Concentrate,_ you heard finally. _Look at the rock, focus every last bit of your energy on it, and then picture it somewhere else._

“You have to be joking,” you near-sobbed. If he wanted to make fun of you, could he not have chosen a better time to do it than this?

 _The Force is not a joke,_ he informed you; followed closely by, _Do you wish for me to help you, or not? I am quite content to die here, but I suspect that you feel differently._

Was Darth Vader displaying compassion toward you?

That was something you would consider later.

“Yes! Yes, I feel differently!” you conceded, not without desperation. “If the Force can help me, then tell me how!” Your foot was starting to feel numb; you knew that you could nurse it back to health, but only if it didn’t go for too long without blood. You had no desire to amputate one of your own limbs; weren’t even sure if you could.

_Do what I told you to do. I will assist you— but only this once. I expect you to take this lesson to heart._

Of all the things you’d come into this assignment expecting from Vader, this would have been the last of them. 

“O-okay,” you said, as you stared intently at the rock. “I’m doing it. I’m looking at th—” 

_**Be quiet.** _

You ceased talking, then— you steeled your mind; did as best you could to follow his instruction and become steadfast in your concentration. It was incredibly difficult to do so over the pain you were experiencing, which you knew you would contemplate later on in relation to your observations you’d made about his condition. Now, however...

Right now, you just kept on staring.

Finally, the fruits of your effort became evident in the rock’s beginning to shake. It was subtle at first; so subtle you thought that you were imagining it, or hallucinating it... but, you weren’t. Soon the shaking became more obvious; after that, it was unmistakeable— and then finally, after what felt like much more time than almost certainly had actually passed, the whole thing seemed to levitate.

The second it was raised from your foot, you scrambled out from beneath it; it fell heavily back to the dirt. After that, you sat in the ditch and looked up at the trees again; you were panting and sweating and likely still crying... but, your foot was free.

It was crushed, but it was free.

“It worked!” you yelled. _”It worked!_ Thank you! How did you do that?!”

Vader did not respond.

You looked down at your foot, then, and the true extent of the injury the rock had caused it started to make itself clear to you. You felt tired, and combined with the growing numbness in your toes, there was pain shooting up your leg— however, you pulled yourself from out the ditch with your arms anyhow, and proceeded to limp like an injured dog back to the ship.

It didn’t matter whether he ever spoke to you again. At that moment, you were simply infinitely grateful to ‘Anakin’ for saving both of your lives that day. You knew that you would be far too relieved to restrain either your joy or gratitude from him upon re-entering the ship; were too overwhelmed to worry about whether he would put up with it or not. Really, he didn’t have a choice in the matter now that he’d rescued you, did he?

You knew that you would have to repair your foot; that to do so would not be a pleasant endeavour. Maybe expressing your thanks to Vader would be just as distressing, particularly if he completely ignored it— however, you believed firmly that both undertakings were equally necessary.

You fully intended— as he had instructed— to take _everything_ you’d learned today to heart... both about the Force, and about the man who had just opened your eyes as to what it could actually do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something happened!! 
> 
> Also, yeah, moving rocks lol. I know, I know...


	10. Value

The actual, logistical process of rendering yourself useful to Vader once again after crawling back to the ship ended up having to take precedence over your more emotionally-driven desire to express your thanks to him. By the time you’d arrived on the correct side of the airlock, both your foot and the lower portion of the leg attached to it were enveloped by a searing, relentless pain. You knew that the first thing you’d have to do would be to cut your pants away from your ankle, and remove your boot; your foot was going to start to swell soon.

“I’m sorry,” you said, from your position on the floor. You suppressed a groan, and began to use a pair of medical scissors you’d left sitting near your workspace to free your foot from its entrapment. You cut the laces from your boot (you would worry about repairing or replacing them later) and tugged the rest of it off as carefully as you could manage before proceeding to slice your pant-leg up the seam to just above your knee.

Vader did not respond to your apology; all you could hear from him was the rhythmic, mostly-predictable sound of his battered respiratory device. Right now you didn’t mind that at all— you’d never been quite so relieved to hear the sound of laboured breathing, really; you were glad to be back in his physical presence, even if you were not yet in any condition to help him.

“It was my fault,” you went on, as you gritted your teeth and shifted so that you could get a closer look at what you’d done to your foot. You felt stupid, now, for having let it happen to begin with— why hadn’t you just knocked the rock down yourself; taken care of it before it took care of you? “I should have been paying more attention to what I was digging up.”

You didn’t expect him to say anything, really, and he didn’t— so, you sighed and shook your head at yourself as you carefully examined a series of angry-looking, fast-forming bruises. You’d definitely broken bones; however, your boot had graciously spared your skin from being too badly cut. You had a few minor scratches near the top of your ankle from when you’d tried to wrench yourself out, but most of the damage you’d wrought was actually internal. The whole thing was, indeed, starting to swell. 

“Oh—” You tried to stand on the knee attached to your uninjured foot to retrieve a box of instant ice-packs you knew were resting on a shelf close to where you’d found the scissors; however, you almost toppled over. You realized quite suddenly that you were feeling incredibly dizzy; lowered yourself slowly back down to the floor to take a series of deep breaths.

You weren’t going into shock, you reasoned; you hadn’t lost any blood— unless, of course, something inside of your foot was more severely injured than you thought it was. 

“I know you need to eat soon,” you said, trying not to sound as unsteady as you felt. “I’ll be able to resume— _ah_ —” You cut yourself off, and then exclaimed a particularly vulgar curse word in one of your own home planet’s secondary languages. You’d palpated your ankle in an especially disagreeable manner, it seemed, and the pain was absolutely excruciating— it was no wonder, really, that you felt like you were about to faint. 

Your foot was not swelling up quickly enough to indicate severe internal bleeding; that was good, but you didn’t feel any better. You’d be as much use to Vader unconscious on the floor as you’d have been trapped under a rock in the woods, and you knew it. The same panic you had experienced outside began to return to you, and you found yourself quite unable to halt it. Tears came back to your eyes; you knew you were beginning to hyperventilate.

The more useless you rendered yourself, it seemed, the more you feared your own uselessness— an infinite, brutal cycle of inefficiency, to be sure.

“Crying... will not _heal_ your foot... any more than it was ever... going to... _free_ it.”

“Tell me this is something else the Force can fix,” you implored him. It was kind of him to speak to you, you thought; hearing his actual, physical voice was of particular help in making you feel a bit more grounded. You wondered if he understood that.

“Not... under these... _circumstances_ ,” he wheezed, followed by a minor coughing fit.

You attempted to calm yourself; decided to try to reach for the ice packs again. The sound of his cough, you realized, was highly motivating— it reminded you that you could not assist him with his breathing (or anything else) until you’d started to mend your own injury. This time, you had a bit more luck; with a weak swat of your hand which likely looked as pathetic as it felt, you managed to knock the entire box of ice-packs to the floor. You’d already opened it up days ago, and so several of the little self-contained first-aid devices ended up strewn about you on the tile.

You began to activate one of them; thankfully, all it took was a squeeze and a shake of the package. As soon as it started to feel cold, you placed your foot atop it, and then quickly reached for another. Very soon, you’d constructed an adequate compress— you knew that if you could keep the swelling down, you’d soon be able to discern just how bad the damage was, how long it might take to heal, and if its severity warranted you dipping into the the supply of bacta solution intended for Vader. You hoped to avoid that at all costs, while at the same time understanding that at least one of you needed to be able to move.

As you waited for the effect of the ice to make itself evident, you looked down at your hands; they were absolutely filthy. “I’m sorry,” you repeated. “Once I’ve got this under control, I can clean myself up and get you some food.” You couldn’t help but think of how much more difficult a broken foot was going to make your daily work; considered, too, the effect it might have on the quality of the care you were able to provide. How were you going to finish your new ditch, now? What about the process of disposing of and concealing the trash for which it had been intended? Healing took both time and energy; you had neither of those to spare. On top of it all, you realized that you could not see Vader’s bag of food from where you were sitting.

“Your mind... runs... like a _faucet,_ ” he said, not without what you’d come to understand as a somewhat characteristic suddenness. Even perennially supine and virtually immobile, he was rather jarring— briefly, you imagined what it must have been like to encounter him prior to what had happened in the skies above Endor; the thought almost made you shiver.

It dawned on you that perhaps he was right about the way you tended to think— at least since coming here, anyway.

“It would be easier to temper my thoughts,” you answered his criticism, “if I didn’t have to be alone with them all day and night.” You wouldn’t typically have been so direct; but then, you’d never been in this type of pain or distress in his company before.

“Solitude... can be used... to bolster... one’s _focus_ ,” he said, which for some reason irritated you in spite of your thankfulness.

“I’ve never felt more unable to focus in my entire life than I have since coming here,” you responded, whether you ought to have or not. Then, somewhat more pleadingly, _”Why don’t you speak to me?_ It isn’t as if I haven’t tried to be personable.”

“Your patience is... _admirable_ ,” he rasped, before pausing to catch his breath. You knew that he was no longer accustomed to using his voice this way; that it was an effort to speak, and also that to do so caused him pain. He forged on, _”However,_ I have... nothing of value... to _impart_.”

He’d helped you use your mind to free your foot so that you could come back inside to do your job; what was he talking about?

“I highly doubt that,” you said, to which Vader’s response was— of course— renewed silence.

That was fine for now, you reminded yourself: He’d already been incredibly generous with you today, after all. Instead of attempting to draw more from him than he seemed to have to give you presently, you closed your eyes. Quietly, you waited for enough time to pass that you could cease icing your foot and begin to get cleaned-up adequately to be of use once again.

You found yourself wanting to learn more about how you’d moved that rock— and wondering whether you might be able to convince, cajole, or otherwise nudge Vader into revealing even just a bit more of his knowledge of the Force to you. 

Perhaps the kindness you now knew he was capable of displaying could once more work in your favour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anakin sometimes doesn’t think much of himself.


	11. Lie Still

“I hadn’t wanted to do this,” you said, “but I think things will be easier for both of us if my foot has a bit of extra help.”

It had been a number of days, now, since you’d hurt yourself. Although all signs pointed to your injury being fairly capable of healing on its own, you’d found that you simply didn’t have the kind of time nature seemed to want to take with it. Presently, you were sitting in your chair next to Vader, with a bowl of diluted bacta solution and a roll of fresh bandages. You were dipping the bandages into the liquid and applying them to your foot in layers, since to both soak and elevate it would have been somewhat impractical. Anyhow, you used up less of the medicine this way— you didn’t know when Luke would be back with fresh supplies; you weren’t about to let anything you used here go to waste if you didn’t need to.

Until now, you had essentially been hopping on one leg to perform tasks you could not complete from a seated position; were relieved to find that Vader seemed to have no inclination toward mockery or undue criticism of your plight. Since you were a child, you’d heard stories of him utterly annihilating workers, soldiers, and even civilian strangers who had come upon the misfortune of causing him disappointment. Even though Luke had assured you that his father was not the evil tyrant he’d once been, you were concerned with what his reaction to your self-imposed incompetence might entail.

It was so easy to forget who he used to be that remembering sometimes had a deeply unsettling effect on you. Part of it was the simple fact that he did not resemble the image of him you’d constructed in your mind over the course of your life: His general appearance was the precise opposite of what you’d have described as ‘formidable’, and to see the pale, forlorn face which had been concealed by his mask for so long deeply humanized him. His scars reminded you of his pain; his pain reminded you that he was, in fact, a person; his being a person made you want to communicate with him— particularly seeing as how you were otherwise isolated.

Vader, however, was stubbornly uncommunicative... and although you had been trying not to let it, his silence seemed to compound your pain. 

“I’m still sorry for this,” you sighed, as you stopped for a moment to examine your work with the bandages so far. They looked fine; as good as they were going to look, anyway. If you left them on all night long with your foot raised up, the bacta they’d absorbed might just be able to speed your healing. You’d have to take them off in the morning and replace them with a dry wrap so that you could move well enough to work; however, if they seemed to help, you’d repeat the process the following night. “I’ll have things back to normal in no time,” you added to your apology, and you were aware that you did not sound as authoritative as you’d have liked. 

Your injury would certainly heal eventually, you knew— you just didn’t yet know how well. You also couldn’t be certain as to how long it might take to do so; besides that, pain coupled with indefinite silence happened to be distressing... or, at least, it was for you.

Deciding to stop with the bandages altogether for now, you opted to simply see how it felt to prop your foot up. It was late; late enough that you’d already completed your work with Vader for the day. You’d set a box from the ship’s storage compartment in front of your chair for the specific purpose of supporting your injured extremity; it took up space in the room, but you were the only one who had to move around in here: The space you were ceding was not really much of a sacrifice.

You looked over at him as you reclined in your seat; could see his face in perfect profile this way. His eyes were closed and his breathing was relatively steady; he bore no expression that you could discern. For a man incapable of movement and for whom basic functions were a source of immense pain, you mused, he certainly did look quite composed. You gazed at his scars, and at his skin, too— when was the last time it had felt sunlight, you wondered once again? Or rain? Wondering made you feel sad; suddenly, you realized that you had been staring at him quite intently.

“I... _told_ you,” he wheezed, seemingly out of nowhere. He did so without opening his eyes, or turning his head. _”Like a faucet.”_

You smiled in spite of yourself, because that was the closest he’d ever come to saying something to you for the mere sake of doing so. Aside from that, if he’d been anybody else in the entire galaxy, you might have believed he was making fun of you. 

You stayed quiet a moment, because you weren’t sure what to say. Finally (perhaps somewhat bravely; at least, you _felt_ brave to do it), you countered gently, “If the way my mind runs bothers you, then maybe you could help me learn to modulate my thinking.” You glanced toward your newly-wrapped foot; added, “I’ve helped others with their pain, but did you know that I’ve never been injured like this before, myself?” 

“Pain,” he said simply, “is as capable... of bolstering your focus... as _solitude.”_

“What do you mean by that, exactly?”

“I mean... that you need... to _use_ your discomfort. Not... _lament_ it.”

“Is that what you do?” you asked. “‘Use’ your pain?” Like the bacta and the bandages, you supposed, it was better not to let anything go to waste if it could be helped.

“Yes,” he answered, followed by nothing.

“Then you were wrong,” you observed after a long pause, which finally seemed to draw from Vader a physical response. You watched his eyes open, and not without some effort, he tilted his head in your direction. You had not actually made eye-contact with him prior to this moment; you found yourself stricken by the intensity of his stare.

 _What, precisely, was I ‘wrong’ about?_ he asked. He did it with his mind, and in a tone of ‘voice’ which made you wish for a moment that you hadn’t said a thing.

With some trepidation, you began, “Well— you told me days ago that you didn’t have anything useful to say, didn’t you?” You looked, briefly, away from him and back at your foot. “...I think you were wrong about that,” you reiterated, somewhat reluctantly.

 _What is it that you would like to know?_ It didn’t sound like an offer, exactly— but, graciously, it also did not sound like an outright rejection.

“I’d like to know how to do what you do,” you said. “I’d like to use my pain instead of bemoan it.” You added to that, _”If_ someone would be so kind as to teach me.”

He appeared slightly irritated, which you did regret, but he also didn’t look away from you. _I will help you,_ he conceded, _in the sole interest of improving your efficiency despite your injury._

That made it sound as though he were merely taking pity on you; however, if pity was all he had to offer, then you supposed you would just have to accept it. Trying to sound less enlivened than you actually were by his proposition, you asked him, “What do I do first, then?”

 _You cease gawking at my face_ , he instructed, _and you lie still._

You did.

_Now, you listen._

“What am I listening fo—”

_**Be quiet.** _

You went quiet. This was starting to feel a bit like moving the rock.

 _It is exactly like moving the rock,_ he confirmed (even if you hadn’t actually addressed him that time), followed by an invitation to come into tune with whatever elements of the Force happened to be present in the room with the two of you right then. To hear Vader tell it, the Force was present _everywhere_ — and, apparently, it existed without limits.

You had thought that you would have to wait much longer than this to practise any form of Jedi meditation... and you had assumed that you’d be learning it from Luke. You appreciated his father’s apparent willingness to share some of his insight with you; thought once more about the vehemence inherent in his gaze before recalling his instruction, and quieting your mind as you had your voice.

...Who’d ever have guessed that Darth Vader’s eyes would happen to be the same colour as an unpolluted, tranquil sea?


	12. Anchor

_”Augh!_ You said that this would work!”

_It **was** working. You seem to have abandoned your focus._

You’d nearly fallen into the ditch (the new one; the one in which you’d already almost died once) in the midst of attempting to weigh down and conceal what had most recently been dumped into it. 

“I didn’t abandon it,” you argued. “It... well, it _went away!_ ” 

_Nothing merely ‘goes away’— you distracted yourself. Identify the source of your hindrance, and try again._

What _had_ precipitated your loss of control? You couldn’t think of it, now that whatever it was had left your mind. Over the course of several evenings spent reclined at his bedside with your foot wrapped in bandages, Darth Vader had succeeded in impressing upon you the significance of opening yourself up to the power of the Force, while simultaneously shutting out anything and everything else which could possibly have served to divert your focus from it. It was very difficult— your mind was not naturally inclined toward working quite that way— however, it was of enormous benefit in helping you cope with the effects of your lingering injury. 

When you managed to get it right, the pain in your foot seemed almost to disappear. This allowed you to do things like haul trash outside, and maneuver effortlessly around Vader’s bed to care for his limbs and incisions. It caused you to expend a vast amount of mental energy; much more than you were used to... but, it was infinitely better than the relentless discomfort and inefficiency of fully experiencing your broken bones. It didn’t heal you, and it also was not infinitely sustainable— but, it didn’t need to last forever; it only ever needed to last long enough for you to do your work.

Today, unfortunately, it hadn’t: You’d lost that much-coveted focus of yours in the midst of your chore; a stupid mistake, but one for which your instructor at least seemed to have a modicum of tolerance.

“...I don’t remember what I got caught up in,” you said, after considering it for a moment.

_In that case, it must have been trivial. **Try again.** Do you realize how long you’ve been outside?_

“I— _oh!_ Your food is almost gone, isn’t it?” He’d taken to using your job as a motivational tool; seemed to have been able to discern your priorities quite well, in fact. Although he might still have resented receiving it, Vader made it obvious that he understood how the care you provided him kept you anchored. He was not above reminding you when you had diverged from your normal routine; had even begun to subtly hint that he was cold or hungry, when he knew it would serve to realign your focus.

You didn’t dare mention that you appreciated it, although part of you was sure he already knew. In spite of his condition, you were discovering that Vader was quite an effective teacher.

 _Yes,_ he answered; not without reminding you, _although it is of no particular concern to me._

It certainly was to you. “I’ll be in soon,” you told him determinedly. “I’m going to try this again.” 

He didn’t say anything more after that, because he knew he didn’t have to. You were finally starting not to be bothered by his extended periods of silence: Besides the fact that you now understood them to be a symptom of the near-constant meditation he practised in the interest of quelling his pain, you also knew that you had the evenings to look forward to, now. The time you had begun to spend with him at night was quickly becoming very valuable to you— not only because of what you were learning about the Force, but because it afforded you a small dose of the human contact you felt you needed in order to remain functional.

It was time to ready yourself, now. You closed your eyes, and willed your mind to somehow both open and close itself at once; to let in the things that would serve you while repelling those that wouldn’t. You drew energy from everything around you that you could; at the same time, you gave all you had to your surroundings. It was symbiosis at its most simple and also at its most complex; it did, indeed, require an incredible amount of mental fortitude.

You might not ever have believed yourself capable of it, if it weren’t for your patient... and, although you’d never have told it to him directly, you were almost beginning to feel it was fortuitous rather than detrimental that you had inadvertently crushed your foot. If it weren’t for that rock, after all, the continuing desolation of his lack of willingness to communicate might very well have started to drive you mad.

The Force seemed to give Darth Vader something to talk about, and you were finding yourself more than willing to listen to what he had to say.


	13. Look Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is quite long... for this story, anyway.

You’d just finished boiling some water on the tiny, portable cooking surface set up at the end of that narrow, steel table along the wall— the one that was supposed to serve as your workstation. Both the miniature heating element and the desk itself just so happened to go largely unused; most of your work was done at your patient’s bedside, and you typically only consumed packaged rations. Tonight, though, you felt like brewing some of that tea you’d mentioned to Luke, and so you had chosen a variety you knew was popular in the outer-rim. You thought that perhaps Vader would recognize it.

“Your son told me you wouldn’t want any of this, but I’m going to offer it to you anyway,” you said, as you opened up a small bag of dark, dry leaves.

 _It smells like tea,_ he observed through his mind. You liked that he seemed to have begun to grow accustomed to speaking to you this way. It wasn’t that you didn’t like to hear his voice; rather, you knew it caused him pain to manifest his speech physically. This was particularly true given the formality with which he tended to express himself, and so to spare him discomfort, you almost always preferred that he communicate with you mentally.

“That’s because it _is_ tea,” you said, not without a hint of irreverence you hoped wouldn’t cause him to become upset.

 _Tea is a frivolity,_ he answered plainly.

You shrugged, and poured your hot water over a scattering of loose leaves you’d placed at the bottom of the same cup you always drank from. “I don’t mind frivolities,” you told him. “Some things are just nice to have— don’t you think?” You looked over at him; his eyes were closed, but his mouth was tightly drawn. Was he smiling? Or was he sneering at you? You couldn’t rightly tell; not from where you were standing just then.

 _”No,”_ he rasped quietly. “I do _not.”_

“Alright, then,” you said, as you wondered what sometimes compelled him to use his voice over his mind, since it was so much more difficult for him to do. “I’ll enjoy it by myself— and I’ll tell Luke that he was right, too.”

Vader sighed audibly at that, but seemed to settle nonetheless. You had discerned soon after arriving that while he could never truly be said to ‘relax’, he was certainly more tense at some times than others. Again, you wanted him to be comfortable, and so you tried your best to make him feel that way... even if you knew it didn’t always work.

You sat down beside him, like you usually did at night. You had your bandages and your bacta set up (hopefully you would not have to use them for too much longer); however, you weren’t ready to begin applying them just yet. You didn’t have anything in particular to say, and it seemed that Vader didn’t either. He rested silently; eyes shut. As you appreciated the familiar warmth and scent of your tea, you turned your head to the side; took the opportunity afforded by the calm silence to look upon his face. It wasn’t something you did especially often; besides the fact that he seemed not to like it very much, you were so frequently focused on preserving the rest of his body that you sometimes just didn’t think of it.

Right now you _were_ thinking of it; although he wasn’t looking back at you, he certainly registered your stare.

 _What are you doing?_ He didn’t move; still didn’t open his eyes.

“Looking at your face,” you answered, with a lingering hint of the irreverence you had displayed when you’d confirmed that your tea was, in fact, tea.

 _Why?_ The question sounded pointed; almost harsh.

“I like to look at your face sometimes,” you said, to which you added, “You’re the only other person here,” although there was certainly a bit more to it than that: You had very recently started to feel as if you actually did _know_ Vader, rather than simply know _of_ him. You had already become intimately familiar with his physical damage, and now that he’d apparently decided that it was worth his time and energy to teach you a bit about the Force, his mind had also begun to feel like a little less of a mystery to you than before.

When he said nothing, you conceded, “If you don’t like it when I look at you, then I’ll stop.”

 _Do what pleases you,_ he said after a pause. _I feel tired tonight._

“That’s okay,” you assured him. “I understand.” You’d had to remove some of that recurring necrosis from his joints again today, which always left him feeling a bit out-of-sorts. It wouldn’t have made you especially happy to have it done, either; this was another instance during which you couldn’t blame him for wanting to remain silent. 

You looked down at your cup and sat quietly; waited for your tea to cool enough that you could sip it. You supposed that if you were to make some for Vader— if he were to let you— you’d have to be very careful to strain out any and all traces of the loose leaves at the bottom. Even just a few of them would be difficult for him to digest; maybe painful. Much as you’d considered the sun and the rain on his face, you wondered how long it had been since he’d consumed actual food.

You registered movement from out the corner of your eye. “I’m sorry,” you said into your cup, not having realized how loud your thoughts might have sounded.

 _More than twenty standard years,_ he revealed to you graciously, _unless you consider vita-paste ‘actual food’._

“I don’t,” you told him. Vita-paste was a high-quality source of nutrients; however, its taste was disagreeable, to say the least. You’d never been unfortunate enough to have to rely on it; however, you had sampled it in the interest of building empathy for those who did.

_Then you have your answer._

You were the one who fell silent, this time. You stayed that way until another thought occurred to you; one which had started to weigh on you, now that you and Vader were increasing the frequency of your communication. 

“...I still don’t know what to call you,” you ventured carefully, after a few uneventful minutes. You weren’t sure how he’d respond to your requesting a name by which he could be addressed; it was why you hadn’t asked up to now. You found yourself holding your breath as you waited for him to respond.

Finally, _It doesn’t matter what you call me._

You looked back at his face. “It matters to me,” you said. “Besides the fact that we’re in this room by ourselves together all day and night, you’re instructing me now, aren’t you?” You thought a moment; mentioned offhandedly, “I suppose I could call you ‘Master’— that would be traditional, wouldn’t it?”

All at once, he turned his head; revealed to you the full intensity of those pale-blue eyes you couldn’t help but notice the last time you’d been allowed to see them. “Nobody,” he wheezed as pointedly as you’d ever heard anybody wheeze, “should call... _anyone_... ‘Master’.”

Somewhat taken aback by the vehemence of his reply, you averted your own gaze momentarily. When your eyes met his again, though, you found yourself insisting, “I need to call you _something.”_

_Call me by my name, then._

“I don’t know what that is,” you told him, and you knew you sounded frustrated. Was it some variation on ‘Darth Vader’, or was it ‘Anakin Skywalker’? If the more formal title you had already suggested was not acceptable, then one of those two had to be— but, which one?

Vader, for his part, seemed annoyed, too. He looked up at the ceiling and away from you before closing his eyes altogether and answering with palpable reluctance, _The one I was born with will have to suffice, if you insist on using a name to address me._

His concession made you smile, whether it should have or not. “I can call you ‘Anakin’, then?” you asked, to no response. As you finally began to drink your tea, you told him, “It’s a nice name, you know. I appreciate you letting me use it.”

 _It has not suited me for a very long time,_ he said. You did wonder what he meant by that, precisely, but you weren’t about to prod at him any more than you already had tonight.

 _”I_ think it suits you,” you offered simply, and although you might not have been sure of that before, you were now. His name was elegant; it sounded as if it belonged to someone who was wise, and strong. Darth Vader— _Anakin_ — had thus far proven himself to be both incredibly perceptive, and deceptively powerful.

He also happened to be finished speaking to you for tonight, it seemed; his renewed quiet carried with it an air of finality which told you that he intended to attempt to sleep. Again, you understood; didn’t hold it against him. You’d have liked for him to teach you something this evening; however, he clearly wasn’t feeling quite up for doing that. Anyway, you’d learned what you should call him— that was as valuable to you as anything he’d taught you so far about concentration, focus, or the power of the Force. 

You finished your tea; eventually, you began to wrap your foot. By the time you’d started, Anakin’s breathing told you that he had fallen asleep. You were happy for him; it was often difficult for him to rest due to his pain. Perhaps his present success in that regard was of as much benefit to you as it was to him, because it was at this point that you came upon a realization. With some suddenness, it occurred to you that you did, in fact, know what had distracted you in the woods the other day, in your attempt to cover up your tiny landfill: You knew because the same thing was distracting you right now; that ‘thing’ being Anakin’s steadfast, cerulean stare.

You looked over at him one more time, and hoped that wherever he was in his head, it was far enough away from you that he could not infiltrate that particular one of your thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I need to share:
> 
> I received a FANTASTIC present in the mail yesterday, and that present is a beautifully-rendered, battle-damaged Darth Vader action figure whose mask and chest-plate (among other parts) come off to reveal the full and tragic extent of Ani’s physical decimation. 
> 
> I absolutely love him, and I can hardly stop looking at him long enough to do anything else with my time right now. I can’t believe he’s mine; obviously, I am never _ever_ going to let him go.
> 
>  **JustBeStill** here on Ao3 is the lovely, generous, gift-giving human who knows exactly how much our friend means to me, and I am incredibly grateful for the inspiration he was kind enough to bestow on me. ❤️


	14. Relief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was difficult to write, and so it might be difficult to read. I’m really not sure.

The surface beneath you shook violently, the noise was cacophonous, and you’d never smelled so much burning plastic or singed metal before in your life. You were on the floor, on your hands and knees; however, you rose as quickly as you could to your feet in spite of the ground’s rocking and heaving. There were men dressed in uniforms and armour rushing all around; some more frantically than others, but all in the same general direction. 

You thought you must have been in a shuttle bay, but you’d never been inside a hangar quite so large as this one. After looking around in a failed attempt to discern where you were or what was going on, you did see something that was familiar to you: A person; two of them, actually— one appeared rather large; the other significantly smaller by comparison. The more slight of the two happened to be dragging his companion across the floor; it was noteworthy that none of the uniformed men running here-and-there stopped to help. You yourself moved to assist after registering this, but found that— for no reason you could yet distinguish— your feet were stuck fast to the floor.

This, of course, ought to have indicated to you that you were dreaming... but, you didn’t realize that; not just yet.

The figures you were watching helplessly struggle amongst the chaos surrounding you were, of course, Anakin and his son— however, you’d never seen either of them quite like this. The uniformed men all around were ignoring them in favour of making their own escapes; Luke was utterly alone in dragging his still-masked father to the door of a waiting shuttle. Again, you tried to lift your legs to run over and help, but you simply couldn’t; in this version of reality, it seemed, all you could do was watch.

The two of them were at the bottom of an open ramp leading up to a smaller ship; they were so close, but Luke appeared to need to stop. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, if they were saying anything— all you could register with your ears was the chaos of the environment. The fear and devastation writ on the younger Skywalker’s face were obvious, though, and suddenly he moved to take off his father’s mask. When he did, you were relieved to see Anakin the way you had come to know him— he might, you thought, even have been smiling... although just as when you’d made your tea, you couldn’t quite tell; not from where you were just then.

They definitely did exchange words at that point; you couldn’t know what those words were, but very soon you soon saw Luke jump up to complete the task he’d begun: Not without some effort, he hauled his ailing parent up that ramp and into the body of the ship; disappeared into it with him.

You looked around yourself once you couldn’t see them anymore. There was so much smoke by then that you couldn’t see much of anything else, either; however, you were beginning to feel far less mired in your surroundings than when you’d first discovered yourself here. The sounds of the men shouting and running started to fade, the smell of the smoke began to leave your nose, and everything around you got a bit brighter. 

The dream changed as you finally and fully registered that it was, indeed, a dream; when you did, you wished more than anything that you were back in the chaos of what you could only assume had been the Battle of Endor.

This particular vision was much worse than that.

You had no idea where you were, but wherever it was, you felt cold there. First, you heard a droid; then, you heard a voice— Luke’s voice. _”Father,”_ he said, and he sounded desperate. Next he seemed to address the droid with equal urgency, “Whats going on? I’ve patched his respirator; this shouldn’t be happening!”

“It is the wiring behind the box in his chest, Sir,” said the droid calmly. Droids were always calm.

“So fix it!” shouted Luke, whose father was laying still on a gurney (for all you knew, it was the same one from which he now received your treatment); making a sickening array of wheezing, rattling noises you’d only ever heard from people who were on the brink of death.

“That will require several incisions for the purpose of accessing his central computer. If I succeed, he will no longer be able to move his limbs when I am finished,” the droid informed Luke.

“Will he live?!” 

“Yes,” said the droid. “He will live.”

_”Then get it done!”_

The little medical robot went to work, at that; cut into Anakin without further hesitation. It was precise and skillful, but to watch the macabre procedure was to wonder why it was being performed in the first place. Blood seeped from around the edges of the chest box and stained his skin, while the droid’s long, needle-like appendages snaked in behind it. They rummaged around furiously, doing whatever it was they needed to do in order to keep his heart beating, and his lungs taking in air. 

You couldn’t speak and you couldn’t move about the space, but you could look, and so look was what you did. You examined Anakin's face after taking in the sight of his heaving, bleeding chest and found to your dismay (and in spite of his presumed lack of consciousness) that it was twisted into a ghastly expression. It was one you had only ever witnessed coupled with those death-rattles he’d been releasing prior to the droid’s incision.

You wanted to scream out for it to stop; for all of this to stop, but you couldn’t— all you could do was watch; try not to cry, or vomit. Luke was a good person; you knew he was— but, he clearly loved his father far too much for either of their own good.

Anakin convulsed as tears poured down Luke’s face and the droid did its job; just as you thought you couldn’t take any more, even harsher light flooded your vision and you were very suddenly looking at the ceiling of the room in which you’d fallen asleep. You sat bolt upright, ignoring the bandages peeling off of your foot in favour of turning your attention to your patient, whose breathing was now quick and ragged.

You said his name and looked up at the monitors; he was in distress, but you didn’t know why. He began to gasp for air as you rose from your chair to attempt to discern what the problem was. 

“It’s okay,” you said, as you adjusted the oxygen level in the room and knelt down to examine the wires connecting his respiratory system to the rest of the computers. You checked for breaks in what you could see of the device’s metal casing, too; hoped you would not have to turn him over to perform extensive maintenance on it. You wished more than ever that you had those blueprints Luke said didn’t exist; however, you were prepared to improvise, if you needed to.

You touched his face very gently as you leaned over him to check that his pallor had not worsened. He was a fair bit warmer than you would have expected him to be right now. His eyes were closed, but you could see them shifting beneath his lids— could you wake him, if you tried?

“Anakin,” you repeated, this time into his ear. _”Anakin!”_

To your relief (should you have been relieved?) his eyes— _those_ eyes— shot open; assured you that he was, at least, still with you. He continued to gasp, but once you knew he had regained consciousness, your panic started to ebb off. You knelt down beside him for better access to the wires connected to his breathing mechanism, and proceeded to further examine the device.

As you worked, you tried as hard as you could (and for more than one reason) to push the horrifying dreams you’d just experienced as far as you possibly could from your waking mind. 

You hated the knowledge that you had unwittingly agreed to support— _maintain_ — what you were now absolutely certain amounted to torture.


	15. Wasted Effort

“What... are you... _doing_ with that?”

“I’m trying to fix it,” you said, from your spot at that underused desk on which you kept the element that heated your tea. You thought the answer to his question ought to have been obvious... but, perhaps not.

“To... what... _end?”_

It had been a number of days since you’d had those awful dreams; you hadn’t had any like them since, and for that you were grateful. You’d asked Anakin upon his recovery if he’d shared them with you; his rather abrupt response was that he had not done so purposefully, followed by an apology. You’d found, over time, that Anakin was cordial; he never hesitated to apologize— not when he felt as though he’d given himself cause. Sometimes he was curt, but you didn’t mind that.

“I thought you might like to have it working,” you suggested, as you set his badly-damaged mask down on the surface in front of you. Your hands needed a break from its intricacies anyway. “Maybe— _if_ I can fix it— we can figure out a way to take you outside for a little while.”

He paused for a very long moment; then, still with his voice, _”Why?”_

Your motivations must have seemed especially mysterious to him today. You liked that he was asking you questions, though— you had found that you enjoyed conversing with Anakin; were happy he’d been electing to speak to you with increasing frequency. You stood up and walked over to him; glanced at the monitors before looking at his face— another thing you’d been taking the liberty of doing more often, now that he seemed to object less strongly to it than before.

“Wouldn’t you like to see the forest?” you asked him, as you leaned over to check his bladder bag. You’d been becoming rather attached to your ship’s surroundings, the longer you spent on this little moon. They had begun to feel like somewhat of a refuge from the monotony of the walls and machinery that consumed you the rest of the time. The more you appreciated it, the worse you felt about Anakin’s complete lack of ability to experience it. You always wanted to help him feel better; maybe helping him travel outside briefly could assist you in that endeavour. His bed was wheeled, and the only thing he really needed besides something to lay upon was to be able to breath. Any other caveats to taking him out could— temporarily and with an enormous amount of care and caution— be abated.

Your foot was nearly healed by this point, and you were willing to make the effort.

 _I have already seen forests,_ he informed you simply.

“But wouldn’t you like to—”

 _ **No.**_ You supposed you must have made a sound or a face after that to indicate you were dismayed by his complete lack of enthusiasm for your idea, because he added to that, _Your effort is admirable, but your endeavour is fruitless— I apologize._

You wanted to argue with him, but you held your tongue. Besides stoic and (relatively) polite, Anakin was insistent— if he sounded certain about something, then it meant he was; there was nothing that could typically be done to change it.

“Okay,” you submitted, although not without reluctance. Then, with the tiniest of smiles, “You don’t know what you’re missing, though.” The more he accepted your well-intentioned insolence, the more of it you tended to offer him. He’d never joked with you before in return, of course— but, he didn’t have to. Again, you liked that he was willing to converse at all.

 _As I said,_ he reiterated, _I have seen forests._

You let out a sigh, and turned back to look at the work you’d done so far on the parts that had once made up his mask. It had been coming along well, you’d thought— besides people, you were good at fixing objects, too. Part of you had hoped to draw something resembling contentment from Anakin through the act of repairing such an essential component of his suit; however, you supposed you had made an error in judgement.

Since it was time to switch out his waste receptacle, you went to work on that next; replaced the full bag with an empty one, and discarded the spent catheter tubing. Your trip outside to toss the refuse into the trench was quick and uneventful— you didn’t take your time breathing in the fresh air, or listening for the birds; not today. When you returned to the room to be with Anakin, nothing had changed, and he was silent. You’d have thought him asleep, but the energy he gave off told you otherwise.

This was why you took the opportunity to let him know, “I’m going to go back to work on your mask for a while.” Even if he didn’t want to use it right now, perhaps he’d change his mind later. You thought you understood how the idea of wearing it once again might be unappealing to him, but you’d had some hope that the prospect of coming outdoors with you would override his distaste for the device. Again, perhaps you’d misjudged.

That was alright. As you sat down to work a bit more, he said to you, _You are wasting your time._

Without looking over, you told him in return, “It’s my time to waste.”

You did not yet comprehend that, for Anakin, being trapped inside a single room on a tiny ship was infinitely more appealing than the prospect of once again having to see the world around him through the lenses of torture set into his old, broken mask.

You still did not even know how he’d come to need it (or the rest of his suit) to begin with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, nothing happened. I like how they’re getting used to one another, though. Luke was at least right about that.


	16. Massacre

You were angry— angrier than you could ever remember being. You felt hot, your heart was pounding in your chest, and tears were stinging the corners of your eyes. Wherever you were, it was dark. Although the air was cool, the ground beneath your feet was very warm. 

Suddenly, you heard a sound; one you’d never heard before: Something between a screech and a burst of laughter flooded your ears. Whatever it was, it seemed to drastically increase the intensity of that strange, all-consuming rage you’d just registered inside of you. You felt yourself snarl (you couldn’t remember ever having actually _snarled_ before in your life), and as you raised your head to scan your surroundings, your hands began to shake.

Your feet started to move, too, although not of your own volition. While they did, one of those trembling hands of yours reached downward; down to your waist, where— to your enormous surprise— you found a weapon. It wasn’t just any weapon, either: As your fingers encircled the hilt and unclasped it from your belt, you realized that you were not holding a staff or a sword, or any type of blaster. 

As though it were accustomed to doing so, your thumb pressed a button on the side of it, and out shot a blade— an effervescent blue, it was constructed entirely of energy; it radiated heat and light. You’d never seen one in-person (save for Luke’s, in the woods), but you knew you were holding a lightsaber; wondered how your mind had constructed such a detailed image of something you’d never encountered so closely.

That didn’t matter, though; nothing mattered, because as soon as it was active in your hand, you raised it as if you were about to take a swing with it.

You finally registered that those screeching chortles were vocalizations; the apparent language of a group of short, sturdy-looking creatures who you now understood to be all around you. You must have been in a village of theirs; there were huts, and open fires, and the smells of food and livestock. 

...Why did that only serve to increase your vitriol? It was more unlike you to feel this way than you would have been able to put into words, but there seemed to be nothing you could do except for experience it.

Two of the villagers were standing very near to you, and so you killed them first; slashed at them until they fell and died. It didn’t take much in the way of time or effort— as it turned out, a lightsaber was every bit as powerful as you’d have expected it to be. You turned around, saw another of the creatures, and killed it, too; pierced its chest and watched it crumple to the ground. You’d never done nor had you ever desired to do anything like this before: As a healer, it was utterly antithetical to your values. You didn’t want to do this; however, it couldn’t be stopped.

At least the heat from your blade seemed to cauterize the wounds you’d inflicted; there was hardly any blood— but, the air around you _did_ smell like the inside of a crematory chamber. It was sickening.

Your feet started to move; you were walking through sand, but there was no water in sight. There _were_ more creatures, though; these ones appeared to be females— women— leading their children. You despised them; they needed to die, too, and so you killed them just as you’d killed the others. With both of your hands, you gripped your weapon tightly and raised it above your head before bringing it down on them; you swung mercilessly, and soon they’d been hacked into smoking pieces. The little ones, of course, seemed to come apart far more easily than the big ones.

You might have just slaughtered a family; you didn’t know, and you didn’t care. All you knew was that you could still hear them; more of them, and that they all needed to be killed. You dismantled their shelters, and destroyed everybody inside of them; you dispatched the ones who tried to fight back, and the ones who tried to run. You’d never felt stronger than you did right at that moment; you moved very skillfully, and swung powerfully— at babies, at those who were obviously elderly; at whomever was within your range at any given moment.

You hated them. Every last one of them.

The dream about the Battle of Endor, you thought, had been downright pleasant in comparison to this vile travesty of a vision. When you woke, you were sweaty and cold; you felt filthier and more useless than you ever had in your entire life. 

Somehow, the stench of the dead villagers’ burnt flesh lingered repugnantly in your nose. Your mouth filled with vomit, and you did everything you could not to wake Anakin with your heaving sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Empathy-building. :D


	17. Come Inside

You were on the ground in the woods; kneeling, and catching your breath. First, you had vomited into the trash receptacle you’d normally have used for spent medical equipment; after that, you’d gone outside to dispose of it... only to be sick once more into your little landfill. Now that your stomach seemed to have been entirely emptied (and you’d ceased your crying), you had elected to sit on the forest floor for a while. You hoped that the cool night air might make you feel better, and it did; however, you couldn’t help but remain unsettled.

_Are you ill?_

You jumped; you hadn’t expected to hear his voice— you thought he’d remained asleep through your having woken, although in retrospect, you realized that assumption had been foolish. Of course he was awake. 

You peered upward, because you almost always did that when you spoke with him outside. Doing so did not accomplish much of anything, but you at least got to see the stars that way; the stars were beautiful. “No,” you told him. “I’m fine now.”

 _I felt you leave._ His intent in saying as much, of course, was to observe that you’d never rushed out of the ship like that before; not without informing him.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I tried not to wake you.”

 _You failed,_ he informed you, somewhat glibly.

“I realize that,” you snapped back, without meaning to speak so harshly. You felt guilty for it; added more gently, “I had a dream.” Then, after a pause, you corrected yourself: “Actually, it was more of a nightmare.” 

_People like you and I do not experience ‘nightmares’._

“You could be right,” you said, remembering the dream about Endor. You hadn’t really connected that to what you’d just seen tonight; not yet— you still thought that the two scenarios were quite unrelated. “It was more of an abomination than a nightmare.”

 _It was a vision,_ he said simply.

“A vision of _what?_ ” 

_The past._

Your stomach did a somersault, which was especially unpleasant given that you’d just expelled everything inside of it into a ditch. “Whose past?” you asked, hoping that the answer to your question would not be the one you thought it was going to be.

 _My own,_ he answered, to your dismay. After that, he apologized.

You squinted up at those stars you’d been admiring; glanced about the treetops. The birds were asleep; save for bugs, the woods were silent. Why were you surprised? Why were you _disturbed?_ You shouldn’t have been: This was Darth Vader, after all. He had destroyed countless villages— _planets_ , even— during the Empire’s rule. You had no cause to be shocked by the contents of the vision he’d inadvertently shared with you; however, you were.

“How could you have done that?” you asked him quietly. Maybe you were upset because you had not previously realized just how _personal_ a massacre could actually be, even with an incredibly efficient weapon. Those sights and sounds and smells were, you were certain, going to be etched into your memory forever. Maybe, too, it was because since receiving permission to call Anakin by his name, you had begun to let yourself forget who he used to be.

 _It was easy,_ he said. 

“That’s not the way I know you,” you countered nonsensically. At least you were being honest.

You’d never heard Anakin (or Darth Vader, or whoever he really was) laugh before. The sound he generated through his mind at your remark was something between a chuckle and a scoff. _You knew very well who I was— who I had already been— when you arrived,_ he pointed out to you.

“I— well, that’s true, but—”

_Again, I apologize. It is not up to me to choose what the Force sees fit to reveal to you._

You were quiet for several seconds; then, “How old were you, Anakin?”

 _What are you talking about?_

“When you destroyed that village— how old were you?” Something about that vision; about the rage it had imparted, had made you feel young. Too young. How much of your patient’s existence had been spent snuffing out life? 

_Younger than you are right now._

You shook your head, and rubbed at your eyes. You felt somewhat lost, now, in addition to the residual desolation and uselessness borne of your dream. “I don’t understand how you could—”

 _Come inside,_ he interrupted, _and I will explain._

Slowly and carefully, you rose to your feet. “‘Explain’?” you echoed— to no response. What was there for him to explain? He murdered an entire village; there couldn’t be any explanation... except, you mused in that moment, that he might just be a worse human being than anyone or anything could have prepared you for. 

Growing up, you had been in a fortunate position; enough of one, at least, to have graciously escaped the worst of the Empire’s wrath. Your planet’s government had been compliant, and your father had been a doctor; a bit like you would eventually become. The exploits of Darth Vader and the Emperor had seemed, while fearsome, rather abstract to you. The stories you heard had always sounded like just that— stories. Your vision, however, had served to make what had to have been some of his most vile acts terrifyingly real.

Unsteadily, you made your way back to the ship. You were both dreading and anticipating Vader’s ‘explanation’ as to his actions; were as afraid of understanding as you were of not being able to understand. You’d believed yourself to be in the process of coming to know Anakin; the intensity of that vision was enough to make you doubt what you thought you’d been able to grasp of him so far.

Could you even continue to learn the ways of the Force from someone who had slaughtered mothers and their babies as though they were a load of pigs destined for market?

You truly didn’t know, and you wouldn’t until you’d made your way back to his bedside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope Reader will understand.


	18. Failure

“What did they do to her?” 

_I was too late. I’ll never know._

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. You’d been inside for a little while; the conversation had been very slow to start, but you had started it anyway. Now aware of the motive behind the massacre, you were nonetheless still struggling to comprehend just how it had gone on for as long as it did. You began to ask, “Didn’t you even try to sort out which of them was actually responsible for—”

_**They were all responsible.** _

He certainly sounded sure of that. You shook your head— he’d killed _children._ “What about the small ones?” you asked. “The babies?” 

_I confess to having acted rashly,_ he conceded. He paused for a very long moment before adding to that more tentatively than you were used to, _...Know that I have never taken pride in what I did that day._ Darth Vader, you realized then, was likely unused to admitting fault of any kind.

“You had to know that killing them wouldn’t bring her back,” you said quietly.

Somewhat unexpectedly, he proceeded to turn his head to the side so that he could look at you. With his voice, he wheezed in return, “ _Knowing_ something... and giving it _credence_... are two... very different... _things._ ”

You studied his eyes; they were as intent (and as blue, too) as they’d ever been, but they betrayed a raw, unrefined sadness that you’d never seen from him before. You recognized it as grief, and that made it harder than you wanted it to be to observe, “All that really means is that you didn’t care.”

_That is correct,_ he confirmed, without a hint of the emotion you’d registered in his stare. Then, he turned his gaze back up toward the ceiling.

Both of you went quiet for a while after that. You continued to examine him, although he didn’t look back toward you. Eventually, you found yourself saying without knowing quite why, “Tell me something about her.” 

He didn’t ask what you meant; didn’t seem to need to. _She lived a life of virtually endless sacrifice,_ he told you readily; followed contritely by, _I failed her._

You sighed, and looked down at your hands as they wrung one another anxiously in your lap. “How long had it been since you last saw her?” you asked. He must have left her when he was very young. 

_Ten standard years,_ he answered. _I left her when I was nine years old._

That gave you cause to look back up from your hands. “Nine is awfully young for a boy to leave his mother, isn’t it?”

_That depends solely upon who is being asked,_ he said, without elaborating.

“Did she understand that it was you who’d come to try and help her? Did she recognize you?” He had described untying her, and taking her into his arms as she’d died... but not what they’d said to one another, if they’d said anything at all.

_Of course she did,_ he told you; again, without saying any more.

Another long stretch of silence descended upon the little room. You tried very hard to empathize; you had lost people before, but hadn’t ever had them _taken_ — not the way Anakin’s mother seemed to have been taken from him. It was very difficult to imagine somebody you loved being dragged away from their home, tied up like an animal, and treated so brutally that it caused them to die. What would you have done in Anakin’s shoes? There was really no way to tell; you couldn’t even begin to guess.

“...Well,” you said finally, “then you really didn’t fail her.”

_She died,_ he argued. 

“Everybody dies, Anakin,” you said. It seemed easy to use his name again all of a sudden. “Death doesn’t denote failure.” Should that not have been obvious? Perhaps it only made sense to you because of your occupation. If he were anyone else, you’d have reached out to touch his hand; however, the arm of his which rested closest to you ended in a cauterized bundle of wires rather than a palm with extremities. Anyway, he’d never have felt it. “She died knowing that you did all you could for her, didn’t she?”

You came to understand at that very moment that what he’d done to the village hadn’t been out of hatred for the innocents whose lives he’d taken, nor for those villagers who actually _had_ harmed his mother. His rage that day, you realized, had been almost entirely directed at himself— for being too late; for not having the power to fix whatever damage had been inflicted upon her. Having just helplessly watched the person he loved most in the world die in spite of his best effort, he may as well have taken that old, overpowered weapon of his to himself. 

Part of you wondered how and why he hadn’t. 

He was still staring upward; his eyes continued to be fixed on the ceiling, away from you. You’d have liked for him to look back over at you one more time, but you knew better than to make a verbal request for that sort of attention from him. He seemed, by now, to have pushed his grief away... or at least to have buried it; you couldn’t be sure which. You reached within yourself, then; dipped into a well of bravery which resided inside of you and had just enough depth to help you bring yourself to ask him, “How did you move past what happened that day? You were so young.”

_I would go on to do much worse._

“That’s not what I asked,” you chided gently. “How did you go on after she was taken from you like that?” His pursuits following his mother’s death may well have been ignoble in nature; however, he’d still chased after his dreams, so to speak. He’d nearly conquered the galaxy, after all.

Anakin himself seemed to consider your question very carefully. He was quiet for several long moments before informing you with more honesty than you’d ever have expected, _You would be well within reason to find it absurd, but the answer to that question is ‘love’._

You were, indeed, surprised. Very much so. “...What do you mean by that?” You could tell by the way he spoke of his both his mother and his son that Anakin valued love; however, you also thought that he’d given up on the concept of it for a great portion of his life. The loss of the woman who’d raised him had clearly occurred prior to his having made that particular concession.

_I believe I told you before,_ he said, _that Luke is fortunate enough to take after his mother._

He _had_ told you that before, in reference to the kindness you’d informed him his son had shown you. Now you were beginning to garner a real understanding of what he’d meant by it. 

It was time to wake up now, although the both of you had already been awake for hours. You were no longer nauseous, and it was time to go through the reassuring monotony of changing out his food and waste bags; cleaning and maintaining his incisions and ports. With a very small smile, you went to work; it had been kind of him to explain himself to you, because he was certainly under no obligation to do so. 

You couldn’t help but wonder absentmindedly about the type of woman Luke’s mother had been, because you were coming to understand that to care for Anakin Skywalker in _any_ capacity required an enormous reserve of inner strength, and an abundance of understanding. 

If you were lucky, you thought, perhaps he might soon tell you. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of that conversation have been notes in my book for a while, so it was nice to finally give them some context. I’m sorry that it took me so long to put this chapter together; it’s been a week.
> 
> I love Padmé very much, and I dislike relegating her to a corner when I write these stories... so, I tend to give her a little bit of space to move around in them. I am sorry to anyone who finds that off-putting. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for still being here! It means a lot to me.


	19. Hot Water

_What do you think you’re doing?_

“Just playing around,” you smiled. “Look— it’s a solar system.”

It was rudimentary to say the least, but you felt quite satisfied with yourself as you turned away from your desk; held up your hand to show Anakin what you’d made. In the centre of your palm, there was a twirling configuration of loose tea leaves. You had used the Force to cause them to levitate, and then subsequently take on the shape of several tiny, grey-green spheres. They now orbited one another; their movement happened to be a little bit unsteady, but to you they looked pretty— serene. 

All things considered, you had put a lot of effort into your little work of art, and you felt proud of yourself for it.

 _That is ridiculous,_ said the man who’d taught you how to make things float in the first place. _You are making a mockery of an ancient power._

“I’m not mocking it,” you countered, as you began to step carefully toward his bed, miniature planets still rotating in your hand. “I’m _practicing.”_ Anakin was entirely awake right now. His eyes were open, and his attention was currently focused exclusively on you. As you approached him, you lowered your hand cautiously; held it close to his face so that he could get a better look.

You’d have liked for him to be entertained by your little trick; however, he only glared disdainfully at what you were holding, and proceeded to use the power of his own mind to cause it to dissolve. Some of the leaves fell into your hand... but, most of them fell through your fingers and ended up on the floor.

“Hey!” you protested, as you looked down in shock at the mess he’d made of your small project. “I worked hard on that— and I can’t get any more of that kind of tea, either.” You pursed your lips and lamented having used your favourite variety to play games with the Force.

 _That is a shame,_ said Anakin, as he shut his eyes.

You brushed your hand off on your pants; you weren’t going to bother trying to save that particular batch of tea. “I’m still going to make some,” you said, although you weren’t sure why you felt the need to inform him.

 _Frivolities._

After that, he went off somewhere else; somewhere deep inside his head... leaving you alone with your hot water, and your shredded leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, looks like Master Anakin is ~very grumpy~.


	20. Love

You’d discovered quite early-on into your tenure as Anakin’s primary caregiver that his false limbs were significantly heavier than their outward appearance betrayed. This had been made evident to you the very first time you had ever picked one of them up in the interest of moving it about: Part of your job was to do so in such a way that you might prevent or delay the complete atrophy of the musculature he still retained in his upper arms and legs. 

Primarily, you performed this task for the sake of his own comfort. Once in a while, however, you liked to pretend that you truly believed he might need this type of physical therapy for the purpose of getting up and walking around someday in the future. It made the atmosphere in the room seem lighter to you— not to mention the immobilized durasteel appendages themselves. 

Oftentimes he would silently tolerate your manufactured optimism, which you appreciated. Today, though— for whatever reason— he appeared to be having none of it.

 _You do understand the pointlessness inherent in the performance of this particular task, don’t you?_ he demanded abruptly, just when you were about to begin. 

“It’s to make you feel better more than anything else,” you ceded, as you repressed a sigh and carefully took his ankle in one of your hands anyway. With the other, you steadied the back of his thigh so that you could lift and gently bend the limb. The contrast between the warm, pale skin on the upper part of his leg and the cold, impossibly-hard exposed metal comprising his foot and calf was marked; you noticed it every time. Today, of course, was no exception... although— as always— you didn’t mention a thing. 

He hadn’t yet answered you about attempting to make him feel better. Because you suspected he wasn’t going to, you simply went on doing what you’d already started to do with him. At the same time, you began to contemplate what might have darkened his mood before quickly reminding yourself that he really didn’t need a reason to feel upset or frustrated.

Having developed a rapport with him over the course of your time together, it was easy to forget precisely how precarious Anakin’s ties to the physical realm really were. It was not at all difficult to ignore the machines surrounding him when he was telling you about the Force; surprisingly simple to disregard his lack of ability to eat, move, expel waste, or do much of anything else independently when he was being good company.

 _I have been called many things, but scarcely ever that,_ he told you, out of what seemed like nowhere. But, of course he’d been listening.

As you peered past his leg and at his face, you assured him simply, “It’s true.” Then, you went back to folding and extending his limb. The remnants of the synthetic skin near his knee which had once been used as a sheath for his prosthesis didn’t like to stretch or bend, but also did not seem to appreciate laying still. No matter what you did or didn’t do with it, you knew that it would generate further necrosis... which meant more work for you, and— more significantly— increased pain for Anakin.

“I know,” you said quietly as you finished your thought, because you knew that he was still probing your mind. “It doesn’t make a difference, does it?” 

_You are correct,_ he confirmed. You expected him to close his eyes after that, but he didn’t; his stare remained fixed on you.

“You know I would make it better if I could,” you told him, as you continued moving his leg, and tried to decipher the look in his eyes.

 _Nothing will make it better,_ he answered, and you knew him well enough by now to understand that the last thing he was trying to do was engender pity or sympathy. Anakin was merely stating a fact.

You were both quiet for a long time after that; you finished with one leg, and then moved on to the other. Once you’d done as much as you could for it in the way of bending and stretching, you stepped up the length of his bed to take on the somewhat more delicate task of moving his arms around for him. You had to mind his intravenous feeding port, not to mention the wires running from his chest box to the computers all around you. 

“Does it hurt when I lift your left arm?” you asked, because if it did, that could indicate an infection forming in or around his incision.

 _No more than I’d have expected,_ he said, and— as always— it was a relief to hear. An infection close to where his feeding tube entered his body could spread very quickly, and be rather catastrophic for him if left unchecked. His circulatory system was, perhaps, one of the only parts of him which still worked with minimal interference from you, and you wanted very much to keep it that way.

“That’s good,” you said, and you stood up straight; looked him over.

 _I suppose it is._ He didn’t really seem like he thought so.

You couldn’t repress your sigh; not this time. “I’m sorry,” you said. You hesitated before adding to your apology, “...I know this isn’t what you want.” It was very rare that the two of you discussed either his physical state, or his prognosis— what would have been the point? You’d both been placed here by Luke, and Luke wasn’t here. 

Luke, in fact, was _never_ here. You knew he’d be back as soon as he could, but you had no way of knowing when that might be. In his absence, there was nothing to be said or done with regard to his father’s care or condition; at least, that was how it felt.

 _I told him to leave me,_ Anakin reminded you, echoing his own words from what was now many months ago. 

“He loves you,” you told him, which was what you’d said last time, too. There was nothing else you could say; it was not within your rights to withdraw your care, and nobody— neither father, nor son— had asked directly for you to do so.

 _Do you remember what I said about love?_ he asked, looking up at you with an expression that almost seemed to plead.

There were two different ways for you to answer that question, you realized, although you knew very well what he actually meant. He had told you, firstly, that it was unwise to let love motivate you; that was certainly what he was referencing presently... _but,_ more recently than that, he’d also informed you that love was the thing which had pushed him forward after thoughtlessly committing what ought to have been an unforgivable crime.

You sat down, because when you were seated in your chair, your head was level with his. It was very easy to speak closely with him this way, which you always liked to do. Right now was no exception, even if this particular subject matter was a bit outside of your typical repertoire. 

His eyes followed you; you were still looking at one another when you finally said to him, “You told me that love saved you when you needed saving.”

You expected him to scowl, or perhaps leer at you menacingly; however, he didn’t do either of those things. With unflinching neutrality, Anakin simply looked away, back up at the ceiling— at the overhead lights; at nothing. He didn’t need to tell you that you’d answered him incorrectly.

For some reason, you smiled anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There, now I don’t have to remove my ‘meandering emotional vomit’ tag.


	21. The Procedure

Your chest was tight, your head and heart pounded violently, and every breath you took made you feel as though you were about to die. You were awash with pain— searing and unrelenting, it seemed to consume every inch of you. You were laying flat on your back atop a table; your vision was entirely consumed by a set of overhead lights which appeared (to you, anyway) to be altogether too bright. Moving your head was painful, taking in air was painful, and attempting to shift your gaze was painful. _Everything_ here was excruciating.

The worst of it was that you were by yourself, which you knew because you could feel that the only entities surrounding you at this precise moment in time were droids. You liked droids; they were useful, particularly the medical kind... but, so were human doctors, and with the amount of discomfort you were experiencing right now, you found yourself wishing more than almost anything that you were not alone. The robots seemed to dig into you; they pulled, peeled, cut, and prodded at everything within their reach. You couldn’t move to look down at yourself, but you could smell burnt flesh, or something very much like it.

You tried to speak, but couldn’t; all that seemed to come from you was a garbled yell. Your lungs hurt, and your throat, too; even the inside of your mouth felt like it was being licked by flame, or washed out with acid. It really didn’t matter what you felt, though; nothing could have repressed the blood-curdling scream which escaped you as a new sensation overtook your body: It shot upward from one of your knees and spread like wildfire; made your back arch and your muscles clench. You tried to pound your fist against the table, but nothing happened when you attempted to move your arm.

More than the physical pain (you’d have thought it unbearable if you hadn’t been withstanding it yourself right then), your heart and mind were being almost completely overtaken by a torturous, all-encompassing despondency. It seemed to be woven through with guilt and anger; however, the purity of its devastation was its most overwhelming aspect. It was enough to make you wish that one of the medical droids would malfunction and end your life right then to spare you the torture. What could have happened to make you feel this way? _What had you done?_

You began to feel as if you were about to cry; tried, in fact, to let yourself do just that... but, something was stopping your tears. The corners of your eyes felt like they were burning; it was almost as though your tear ducts were blocked. Sometimes tumours or polyps could do that, you knew; sometimes infections could, too... however, between the awful smell coming off of you and the sheer level of pain coursing through your body, you were beginning to suspect that everything wrong with you presently was due to exposure to some form of heat— extreme heat; heat no one should ever have had to withstand.

Panic started to rise up from deep within you; there was a strong and unyielding sense of hopelessness permeating your thoughts, now. Nothing was alright; you weren’t going to be okay— how could you be okay? 

How could anything _ever_ be okay?

Waking from these nightmares (you still thought of them as nightmares; you couldn’t help it) was always a relief to you; however, this time, your relief was short-lived. The first place you looked each and every time you woke was toward Anakin, because his condition was your foremost concern; typically, he was already awake. This time, though, he appeared to be as unconscious as you’d been just moments ago... and besides that, he was in obvious distress. 

“Anakin,” you said as you stood. Your voice caught; you could feel it in your throat. _”Anakin.”_

His eyes were squeezed shut, and his breathing was as laborious as you’d ever witnessed. He was sweating and shivering simultaneously; when you placed your hand atop the skin on his shoulder, it was cold. His skin rarely ever felt cold. You looked up at the monitors for clues as to what might be going wrong; all they could tell you was that every part of him was working harder than it ought to have been under the current circumstances.

When all of Anakin’s systems went into overdrive for no discernible reason, it usually meant that he was fearful; panicking. You’d never have guessed Darth Vader would happen to be predisposed to anxiety; however, he apparently was. For everything wrong with his body, you’d come to understand that his mind could be just as turbulent... and that the chaos in one tended to inform the mayhem in the other. 

Although you didn’t speak to him about that with any more frequency than you did his own mortality, you knew that to help him right now, you needed to wake him up.

 _”Anakin!”_ you tried again, more loudly this time.

There they were— those eyes of his. Whenever he got worked-up in his sleep this way, you were always glad to see them; even when they betrayed terror or sadness. You leaned in, and placed the back of your hand on his face. He was cold and clammy there, too.

“You need to calm down,” you told him, knowing that the very same was true of you.

 _”I’m sorry!”_ he gasped hoarsely. You wished so much that he wouldn’t use his voice at times like this.

“Don’t speak,” you said. _”Don’t speak._ It’s okay; it was a dream— it was nothing.”

“Our dreams... are... _never_... ‘nothing’,” he reminded you haltingly. You did not need to discuss the fact that you’d been having the same one; it went without saying. His heart rate was beginning to normalize, at least, but he was trembling; shaking like a dry leaf in the wind. His breathing was desperate; he couldn’t seem to take in enough air. That happened sometimes, and you always lamented seeing it.

“I’m going to help you breathe,” you told him, and you reached to retrieve an oxygen mask connected by a hose to a sizeable tank full of pure O2. You could (and would) turn up the saturation in the room momentarily, but this would provide him with the more immediate assistance he seemed to need. 

Carefully, you placed the mask over his mouth and nose. He recoiled from it, and tried to turn his head away... but, you weren’t about to let him continue to struggle to breathe; not like this. With one hand, you held the device steadily against his face; with the other, you simply continued to offer him your touch. You let your fingers rest on his skin next to the oxygen mask while you stroked him with your thumb. You hoped it felt reassuring— over time, you’d come into the habit of touching him more often, perhaps, than was necessary to provide him with adequate care. Luckily, neither of you seemed to mind that.

Eventually, his breathing did slow. He hated the mask, and you hated applying it to his face; you were both quite relieved for him to be rid of it. After stepping away very briefly to fiddle with the atmospheric controls, you returned to his side... and were met by somewhat of a surprise. 

“Anakin,” you said gently, as you grabbed a disposable cloth from nearby. You’d never seen him cry before; not even once, but right now tears were pouring unreservedly from his eyes. You wiped them away, but they only kept coming. “It’s over; we’re both awake.” 

“I’m... _sorry,”_ he told you again breathlessly. You wished he wouldn’t.

“You don’t need to be sorry.” You continued to speak quietly as you kept on dabbing at the sides of his face. 

“You... don’t... _understand._ ”

“No,” you admitted. “I don’t.” You really didn’t. What had you just seen? Was it something that had happened to Anakin, or merely something that he feared? The operation had been performed, seemingly, with no anesthesia; to your knowledge, that simply didn’t happen— not anymore; not with fully-equipped droids and state-of-the-art facilities readily available all throughout the galaxy. What would have been the purpose of that?

His quivering had ceased and his tears had slowed by now, although his eyes were still glassy and despondent. You wished he could move; wished, at least, that he’d let you sit him up. You dried his eyes one last time, and sat back down again as he finally regained enough focus to switch back to speaking with his mind. _Anesthesia_ , he told you, _would have weakened my resolve._

‘Weakened his resolve’? “No one could have survived a procedure like that without sedation,” you argued. You didn’t want to believe what he seemed to be saying.

_The ‘procedure’ was far from the worst of it._

You felt a tight ball of dread begin to form in the very pit of your stomach. What was he telling you, exactly? “That was the day you were placed in your suit, wasn’t it, Anakin?” The smell; the pain— he must have burned. Who had let him burn?

The breadth of his scarring made sense, now; the condition of his lungs and the weakness of his physical voice did, too. The parts he was missing, some of which you’d discovered had not been candidates for replacement... 

All of it made sense.

“Your suit,” you reiterated.

 _My suit,_ he echoed plainly, a distinct note of defeat permeating his mind’s voice.

This time, you did place your hand on his; or at least, you placed it where his ought to have been. You very gently fingered the wires protruding from the end of his wrist as you listened, and waited for him to tell you about just how a person could come to be set aflame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this was going to be two parts, but it seems to want to be just one. I like how much more desperate to wake him she is here than the first time he freaked out in his sleep.


	22. Reconciliation

“I don’t understand how he could have left you,” you said. You were turned toward the computer system’s primary control panel right at that moment, but only briefly: All you had to do there was convert into a single, readable file the information gathered by the box set in Anakin’s chest so that you could examine it later on. It was something you did twice-weekly, in the interest of gauging the speed and trajectory of his physical deterioration.

_He couldn’t have guessed that I would live._

“How _did_ you survive?” you asked. It was plain from his current composition that he could never have saved himself from the type of full-body mutilation which had scarred him so extensively.

 _I was rescued_.

“...Why?” Perhaps you shouldn’t have asked quite like that, you reflected, after it was already too late.

At least Anakin seemed to understand. _Greed,_ he answered you. _An unrivalled lust for power._ So the Emperor had saved him, then. You weren’t surprised.

From what he’d revealed thus far, it seemed to you that he’d been used— like a weapon; a tool. A pawn in a game of chess. “You told me that your first Master was a good man,” you noted. “Why did you fight him?”

 _I brought it on myself,_ he informed you, and you expected him to say more after that... but, he didn’t.

You turned back toward his form; he was looking up at the ceiling right now. You were silent until you were seated beside him once again, at which point you asked, “Why didn’t he try to help you? Before it came to that, I mean?”

 _He did,_ answered Anakin. _I could not have been helped._

You thought about your parents, then, and what they’d told you about Jedi— that they were aloof; self-serving. Too powerful for their own good, or anyone else’s. You’d been born a few years prior to their collective extermination; your mother and father had always made sure to keep you from their grasp... and _’grasp’_ was exactly the word they’d used. Anakin’s first Master may very well have been a decent person, but you wondered about the structure of the Order he had once represented. Being a Jedi seemed to mean giving up a lot of oneself— perhaps Anakin had simply not come into their care with enough of his own essence to give; perhaps, conversely, his strength of spirit had been too great. Whatever it was that had caused him to struggle, hadn’t anyone ever noticed it?

“You were young,” was all you said, and it certainly wasn’t the first time you’d noted as much.

 _Age is irrelevant,_ opined Anakin. Thus far, he’d told you about the raw mechanics of the fight leading up to his catastrophic injury, along with what the relationship between he and the man he’d battled was once like. You contemplated what, precisely, could have made him so violently angry at somebody who seemed to have meant so much to him— it appeared that Obi-Wan Kenobi, whoever he was, had virtually raised the man laying before you.

Even you couldn’t help but wonder where he might have gone wrong.

“I’m sorry he did that to you, Anakin— that he walked away.” You had lots of questions to ask, and a few different things you might have liked to say... but, the fact that the person who had once taught and protected him also happened to be the person who’d sliced his body to pieces and left him to burn struck you more than anything else he’d told you up to this point.

 _If he thought that I was going to die,_ he said, _then walking away was the right thing to do._ He seemed to sigh; then, _The next time we met, I killed him._

“You _killed_ him?” That surprised you; why did it surprise you?

 _Yes— and he still got the better of me,_ he revealed, and for the first time since meeting him, you witnessed him come very close to looking as if he were about to laugh... if only at himself.

“It’s a shame you never reconciled,” you said, because it did seem a pity.

 _It is,_ Anakin admitted— another surprise. He was quiet for a long time after that, and so were you. Just as you were about to get up— maybe to check the progress of that data you’d instructed the computer to compile for you; maybe for tea, or something else altogether— he began to speak. He used his voice this time; aside from raspy and halting, he sounded almost tentative. “There is... a compartment... beneath... the _floor_ ,” he wheezed.

“You mean the one near the desk?” You’d seen it before, and had assumed it to be either empty, or filled simply with rations and extra medical supplies. You’d had no cause to look inside; had barely contemplated it since first noticing it, in fact.

 _”Yes,”_ he said. “Open it.”

You looked at him, but he didn’t return your gaze. Initially you paused, but soon you did stand up from your chair. You paced over to the compartment Anakin had referenced, and stared down at it. “What’s in here?” you asked, as if you thought something might bite your hand if you lifted the lid and reached in. You didn’t know why you were nervous.

_**Open it.** _

His tone startled you; nearly caused you to falter— but, you also bent down to open up the hatch. It was dark inside the compartment, and the space was very nearly empty... save for some rations, as you’d predicted, and a box. It was not large, nor was it ornate. It was made of metal (not durasteel, necessarily, but certainly something like it), and upon picking it up, you felt distinctly uncomfortable... but also intensely curious.

“Is this what you wanted me to find?” You turned back toward where Anakin was laying. 

_Yes._

You didn’t need to be told to look inside. When you did, you had to suppress a gasp. “I— what are—”

_Take the one which more closely resembles my son’s._

You did.

_Leave the other one where it is, and replace the box where you found it._

You did that, too. Once you had, you returned to his bedside, tightly grasping the hilt of the weapon he’d instructed you to retrieve. It did, indeed, look very much like Luke’s own lightsaber.

“Who does this belong to?” you asked, although you were fairly sure you already knew.

“It... belongs... to _you_ now,” said Anakin.

You wanted to tell him that you couldn’t take it. Your job was to heal; you didn't need anything like this. To look at it, though— to feel its weight in your hand; see the glint of the metal comprising it beneath the lights overhead— was to somehow know that you couldn’t possibly have rejected it.

Why did he want you to have it, though?

 _I treated it as a prize,_ he said, _but it is **not** a prize_.

You turned it over in your hand; studied it. “No,” you agreed. “It’s not a prize.” You couldn’t imagine how he must have felt when he’d obtained it— never mind when it had severed his legs. As you stepped more closely to his bed, you asked him, “Are you sure you want to give this to me, Anakin?” 

_I have no use for it— I never did. You, however, might very well need something akin to it following the conclusion of our time together._ You winced, because you realized that to consider the end pained you.

“I don’t know how to use it,” you told him quietly as you sat down at his side.

 _I will teach you,_ he answered, and he sounded quite sure of himself.

You didn’t say anything at all to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it’s entirely conceivable that poor, young, well-intentioned Luke might have hauled ass to Vjun (or more likely had somebody infiltrate Bast for him) to grab Obi’s lightsaber for his dad— either as an incredibly depressing gift, in an attempt to remind him of who he used to be, or maybe even with a tragic, false hope that Anakin might recover enough of his strength to wield it for himself one day. Idk; maybe he’ll tell us when he visits next, along with how he got Vader’s saber back into his possession, too.
> 
> I just really like the idea of them being here, and of Ani trying to teach Reader a thing or two about how to use one of them. I mean, she kinda should have one... and I don’t think red exactly suits her. 
> 
> Also, I’m sorry for how slowly he happens to be letting the whole story trickle out... but, if you really minded ‘slow’, then I guess you wouldn’t be reading chapter 22 of this fic right now. :P
> 
> Seriously, though— thank you for still being here.


	23. But Why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First super-short chapter in a little while, but I like it a lot and I hope you do, too.

The first rock hit you in the back of your leg; you winced and spun, but you were much too slow. The second one caught you higher-up— it impacted your side, very close to one of your kidneys; you didn’t have a chance at stopping it. You shouted in pain, but there was already a third hunk of mineral flying at you, and this one was coming right toward your head.

That one, at least, didn’t stand a chance: You raised your blade defensively; stopped it cold. You felt quite satisfied with yourself; however, only momentarily— before the pieces from the rock you’d managed to block had even fallen to the forest floor, yet another had begun to make its way to you. You cursed and tried to destroy it as well, but it seemed you didn’t pose much of a threat; it glanced off your shoulder and landed, whole, with a thump.

“Alright!” you shouted, as you retracted the long shaft of blue you’d been using to attempt to defend yourself. _”Stop for a minute!”_

 _Why?_ asked Anakin, although he did pause his makeshift assault. 

“Because that last one _hurt_ ,” you said, as though it ought to have been obvious.

_What have I told you about pain?_

You thought back to when you’d injured your foot. “...That it can be a tool,” you answered. “That it can bolster my focus, if I use it correctly.”

 _Then concentrate,_ he told you, _on doing exactly that._

“It’s hard to concentrate when there are rocks flying at my head too quickly for me to even begin to figure out where they’re coming from.” In spite of your complaint, you ignited your lightsaber again; resumed the stance you’d been instructed to take.

 _A genuine foe is not going to cease his attack because you ask him politely,_ Anakin pointed out, and you knew he was correct. Drawing on the strong sense of duty he knew you felt with regard to his care, he added to that, _What if someone were to land here and find you with me?_

“I— well—” 

_**They would kill the both of us.**_

You hadn’t thought of it before, really, but that was very true. Luke had selected this place because of how unlikely it was that anybody unsympathetic to his father’s plight would find it... but, what if they happened upon it anyway? The combined power of your minds would not be enough to keep you safe; one of you, at least, ought to be capable of putting up a physical fight. Due to circumstances beyond your control, you supposed that would have to be you.

“I thought you said you’d be happy to die here,” you countered, with a uniquely irreverent cynicism you supposed you must have been picking up from your patient.

 _That remains true,_ he said, _but I still suspect that you feel differently. Am I correct in my evaluation of the strength of your will to live?_

“You are,” you confirmed. You maintained your stance, but Anakin must have been able to sense that you had something more to say— the rocks surrounding you remained in place on the ground. Finally, you asked him, “...But what does it matter to you how I feel?” 

Why had it _ever_ mattered to him? If he wanted to end his life as much as it sometimes seemed like he did, then he’d certainly had his chance to do so back when you had crushed your foot. Nothing and no one had compelled him to help you; he could have ignored your conundrum entirely, and got exactly what he wanted. In the past, Darth Vader had killed children, innocent civilians, and both of his former Masters. He might have altered his perspective after what had happened high above Endor, but really... shouldn’t he simply have let you die?

Why _hadn’t_ he let you die?

He waited longer than you’d have expected to answer your query. When he finally did, he said, _You do not deserve to die because my son made an error in judgement._

That didn’t really answer your question. Why did your life matter to him at all, when he was in such a dire position himself? Logic dictated that it shouldn’t have; not when to sacrifice you would have been to alleviate his pain. You knew all about his pain; if you were him, you’d have done nearly anything to end it.

“But why—” 

Anakin interrupted you with a rock; sent it flying toward the upper portion of your right arm. This time, you blocked it quite deftly. Then came one more, from behind, which did hit you; then yet another, which you just barely managed to clip with the edge of your blade as it zipped by your ear.

Your back hurt; so did your leg, and your shoulder, too— but, you did as you’d been instructed, and put the pain to use; allowed it to fuel your desire to avoid experiencing any more of it.

If Anakin, for whatever reason, could stay alive through his suffering for you... well, then you supposed that this was the least you could do for him.

You hoped he’d be happy with you that day, when you finally returned to his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, he’s throwing rocks at her so he doesn’t have to talk about his feelings.
> 
> More soon.


	24. Comfort

“Is that alright?” You tried not to smile widely, but you truly couldn’t help yourself. 

_It is acceptable._ Anakin was not smiling; to your knowledge, Anakin almost never smiled— although you often wished he would.

“Will you tell me if it hurts? I know it’s been a little while.”

 _The pain is the same._ Your question had been a silly one; the pain was always the same, wasn’t it?

“I hope you understand how much I appreciate you doing this.”

_It certainly does not escape me._

“...Thank you, Anakin.”

_Think nothing of it._

It had been months upon months since Darth Vader had sat upright. You’d been trying to get him to do as much since he’d started communicating with you, but up to now, he’d outright refused to let you move him in any non-essential capacity. Each and every time you had suggested it, he’d told you that it was unnecessary— _frivolous_ , to use his parlance.

“Okay,” you said, although it didn’t feel like ‘nothing’ to you. “I’m going to go ahead and guess that you still don’t want tea, then?”

 _That is correct,_ he told you, and you wouldn’t really have expected a different answer.

“It’s okay— this is more than enough.” It was. You sat down on the very edge of the cold, metal surface which made up his bed once you’d finished adjusting it so that he could be seated vertically. It hadn’t been difficult to do; the only challenge to it, really, had been the stickiness of the bolts you’d had to turn to move the gurney. You didn’t mind that— again, it had been a while. “Isn’t this nicer?” you asked him, as you sat face-to-face for the very first time.

Without armour (and without the ability to move his arms), he didn’t seem as intimidating as one might have expected. His shoulders were not only bare, but pale and just a bit too thin for his frame. So was his chest around the box; he’d been this way since you had met him. You looked at his face; into his eyes, too— they really were striking, you thought. To see Anakin sit up was to happen upon a new impression of him.

_All the better for you to sit and gawk at my face, I suppose._

“What else would I look at?” you asked. You’d thought the both of you had long since gotten past his objection to your gaze. So what if you looked at his face?

His expression said he didn’t know quite how to answer that question. Briefly, you felt guilty: He was clearly uncomfortable; if not physically, then certainly in other ways. You’d looked after bed-bound patients before, though, and doing this— sitting up with them— always seemed to help. Anakin ought not to be any different from any other person, at least in that respect.

You noticed him looking you up-and-down; his own gaze settled, eventually, on what must have been a highly-visible bruise forming on the side of your face, just beneath your eye. You’d cleaned yourself up after coming in from practicing with your lightsaber, but there was no wiping off the evidence of where the rocks from the ground had hit you— and several of them _had_ hit you.

You touched your cheek with your fingertips; pressed down gently. The spot was tender, but the pain had mostly subsided. “I’m fine,” you assured him, because he still wasn’t saying anything.

 _I know you are,_ he said, _but I still feel the need to apologize for having injured you._

With a laugh, “I’m hardly ‘injured’— and anyway, it was worth it. Really, I should be thanking you; I never thought I’d be able to do anything like what I did with that blade.” It was true: You’d never handled any kind of weapon before in your life; not even a blaster. You wouldn’t have believed yourself capable, frankly.

 _The power of the Force is endless, and you are strong in the Force. Nothing about your performance in the woods today was surprising._ You must have looked just a bit too excited to receive what felt like high praise coming from Anakin, because he added to that, _You still, however, have plenty left to learn._

Your smile shrank, but it didn’t disappear. “I’m just happy to have the opportunity,” you said, and that was very true. You were, of course, aware of the reputation Darth Vader had always possessed; there was no one better to learn from, particularly when it came to the art of combat. Although damaged to the point of near-total immobility (among other things), you felt more aware than ever of just how apt Anakin had once been. Usually those kinds of thoughts caused you to feel sad; right now, though, they served mostly to excite and impress you. It was kind of him beyond measure to impart even the tiniest little bit of _any_ his knowledge; you understood very well just how lucky you were. 

_My son will be a far more effective instructor for you, when the time comes. For now, though, you will have to make do with me._ He stopped, and then looked you in the eye, which you absolutely were not used to him doing from this angle. You tried to decode what he might be attempting to communicate through his stare, but couldn’t. 

Cautiously, you confessed to him, “...I’d really rather we not have to stop any time soon— I like learning from you.” 

The tendons in his neck shifted, what was left of the musculature in his chest tightened up, and you could have sworn you saw his shoulders move as though he were shrugging at you. You reached out, then, to very gently check the integrity of the port holding his feeding tube in place. It seemed fine, but Anakin didn’t; he winced as though you were putting in place that oxygen mask he hated so much. 

“...Does that hurt any more than it usually does?” you asked, as you leaned in closely to examine the skin around his incision.

 _Marginally,_ he admitted.

There was no redness or bleeding, or even granulated tissue— but, he felt warm there; warmer than what would have been typical. “It’s nothing,” you told him. “But I’m going to have to give you an antibiotic infusion after dinner tonight.” Whatever sort of infection might have been forming, you intended to stop it in its tracks. Infections were painful; Anakin didn’t need any more pain... and, although you didn’t acknowledge it right then, you truly were in no position to lose him just yet. He’d said it himself, after all: You still had plenty to learn. 

To your surprise, he didn’t object; didn’t question you, only said, _Whatever you think is best,_ as you carefully took back your hand.

After that, you sat and stared at each other quietly some more. Once several minutes had passed, you asked him, “Do you think you’d be willing to do this more often?”

_Do what?_

“Sit with me,” you answered, although you were sure he was feigning ignorance of what you really meant.

 _I don’t see the point in it,_ he said, somewhat dismissively. You weren’t precisely certain as to why, but that hurt your feelings just a little bit.

“It’s nice to do,” you said, hoping not to betray yourself. 

_You sit with me all day and night,_ he pointed out. That was true, but sitting with him had never felt quite like this. _I thought you would have tired of me by now,_ he added to his observation, which you would not have expected him to say.

“I’m unlikely to ‘tire’ of you,” you corrected him, as you reached out to touch his arm— the part of it that was actually made of him, as opposed to the broken durasteel replacement set just below his elbow.

 _Why do you keep doing that?_ he asked. Not only did his question force a change in subject matter; it caused you to withdraw your hand. You’d been touching him unnecessarily for what felt like a long time, now; he’d never asked about it before.

“Doing what?” It was your turn to pretend that you didn’t know what he was talking about.

 _Touching me,_ he said. _You do it all the time._

You felt yourself tense up. He was right— but he hadn’t previously shown any signs of being bothered by it. “I— well, I touch all of my patients the way I touch you,” you told him, although that was not exactly true. 

_You’re lying,_ he noted plainly; once again, he was correct. Still seated next to him on his bed, you shifted uncomfortably. You didn’t know what to say.

Eventually you managed, “...I suppose it’s intended to be comforting.”

_Comforting for me, or for you?_

“...For both of us,” you settled on telling him. “If you don’t like it, I can—”

 _No,_ he interrupted, but he didn’t say anything else. You felt confused.

“So I should—”

 _Continue going on the way you have been,_ he said, _and forget that I ever mentioned it._ Then, contritely, _I apologize._

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you said, and he didn’t. As you started to rise from his bed, you informed him, “I’m going to get up for a minute to make sure we have enough of the antibiotic you’re going to need later on— if we don’t, I’ll have to get a hold of Luke.” He was easy enough to contact electronically, although he’d asked you not to do so, barring an emergency. A medicine shortage, you thought, absolutely counted as an emergency. 

Anakin didn’t say anything else as you began to rummage through one of the cabinets above the desk. He did watch you, though— he always watched you.

You hoped that sitting up made it a bit easier for him to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorks!


	25. Another Pinch

You were standing at your desk, staring at a sterile catheterization kit you’d retrieved from the ship’s medical stores. You hadn’t wanted to do this, but it seemed as if you didn’t have another option— the infection around your patient’s feeding port had begun to spread in spite of treatment, rendering it unusable. What you needed to do now was to insert a replacement into a new vein, lest he starve.

“I’m sorry, Anakin,” you said.

 _You are only doing your job._ He almost sounded reassuring. You realized, then, that he should not have been the one attempting to comfort you; that it really ought to have been the other way around... particularly now.

“You’re right,” you nodded; after that, you hesitated. Cautiously, _”But,_ it’s your body I have to put this into. If you’d rather I didn’t, you’re well within your rights to tell me so.” Anakin was still not in good physical health, and he wasn’t getting any better— to attend to anyone else in his condition would have been to assume that the care you were providing was palliative: Few people’s bodies could tolerate total intravenous feeding for as long as Luke’s father’s already had. You didn’t want to lose Anakin either, but realistically, you did still have to wonder just how much more time the young Jedi expected his parent to spend this way.

It wasn’t something you enjoyed contemplating, but at times such as this one, you didn’t have much of a choice.

 _My son will arrive soon, and if he finds me dead, you will bear his displeasure._

Luke, in fact, was due to show up any day now with extra medicine. It had been more than a week since the infection around the feeding port had started to take hold, and while you’d had enough antibiotics to _begin_ a course of treatment, Anakin seemed to need more than what was immediately available. While you waited for more, you’d had to choose between administering to him a small number of large doses, or a greater number of smaller ones. The latter option had seemed more prudent; he’d always have some of it in his system that way.

Unfortunately, what you’d had at your disposal hadn’t been enough to keep the infection entirely at bay... and that was what had brought you to your current task. The old incision could no longer be safely used to feed or hydrate him; Anakin needed a new one, and soon.

He was right about Luke, you thought: If it appeared upon his return that you’d failed in your duties, he would certainly react emotionally. You had no way of knowing what that might mean for you; Anakin, for his part, was convinced that you’d be killed. You were still not entirely certain as to why that mattered so much to him; however, Anakin’s motivations had no bearing on what you needed to do for him presently.

“Alright, then,” you said, as you sterilized your hands so that you could open the kit and begin. “I’m going to need you to tilt your head to the side, and stay very still.”

He did as you asked without saying anything more for now.

“I’ve done this before,” you assured him, as you stepped up to the side of his bed. “It’ll be over in no time; we’ll be having lunch before you know it.” You looked down at his face, at that, and offered him a small smile.

 _I look forward to it,_ he told you, and whether he was being sarcastic or not, you appreciated him saying so.

“Me too,” you answered, and you meant it.

You proceeded to use a sterile wipe to disinfect the part of his neck into which the new feeding tube would be inserted. Patients like Anakin who ate and drank exclusively through an intravenous line couldn’t be fed through just any vein; it had to be large— usually, you’d have used the subclavian one close to his collarbone; however, since he’d already developed an infection there, you were now having to resort to using his jugular. The entry point would be easy to maintain, and you’d still be able to sit him up for periods of time with minimal fuss... if, indeed, he still wanted to sit up for you.

Right now, his sitting up wasn’t your primary concern.

“I’m going to palpate your neck with my fingers to look for the vein I need; when I find it, you’re going to feel a pinch... but, the pain won’t last for very long, if I’ve got the right spot.” The first needle you had to insert was for the simple purpose of confirming that you’d found the correct place, and was to be removed once the procedure was complete. The second was of a wider diameter; it would fit directly over the first, and act as his new lifeline, once you set up a port and attached a fresh bag of food.

Anakin’s eyes were closed, now, and he barely moved as the first needle entered his neck. The small tube attached to it filled immediately with dark-looking blood, indicating to you that— thankfully— you’d correctly estimated the proper location.

“There— more than halfway done,” you said, to which Anakin replied with a deep, shuddering breath. “Now I’m going to put in place the one that will carry your food. You might feel another pinch, but after that, we’ll be just about finished.” The rest of the work after the insertion of the second needle would be external: Again, he’d be eating and drinking in no time.

Carefully, you threaded the wider needle into his body atop the the thinner one you’d used to find his vein; once more, he barely twitched as the new length of surgical steel entered him. He was good at this, you thought— better than anyone should have to have been. You considered the sheer number of routines similar to this one that he’d likely had to undergo over the years; shook your head at the the thought as you withdrew the first needle, secured the new port, and prepared the tube attached to it.

You knew that he knew what you were thinking, but you smiled at him again as you stood up straight anyway. He opened his eyes, and moved his head as if to test the integrity of your work. “How does that feel?” you asked him.

 _Adequate,_ he answered, which was about what you’d have expected him to say.

“I hope you’re hungry,” you half-joked, and Anakin gave you a look not dissimilar to the one you’d received from him when you’d dared to use the Force to play with your tea. You laughed in spite of both of you, and touched his face gently before crossing the room to finally retrieve his lunch. 

You didn’t see him smile back at you, because you had already turned away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate needles. And blood. Ugh, poor Anakin.


	26. Surprise

“Hey! You! _Put that down!”_

You thought you’d been alone in the woods; you were _always_ alone in the woods. You barely even had an opportunity to turn around, and not nearly enough time to think about what Anakin had thus far taught you about using your lightsaber to block violent onslaughts: Before you knew it, you were under attack.

_”I said to put it down!”_

Luke’s voice was familiar, but as you whipped around to face him, you found that his expression was most definitely not; in fact, he appeared to be absolutely mired in rage. You raised your own blade in an attempt to stop his from slicing through you, and it worked, but only barely— he almost managed to take your head off with his own deadly length of shimmering green.

“Stop! Luke! _It’s me!”_ you shouted, as you tried your hardest to push back against your counterpart’s forceful offence. Could he see your face? You certainly hoped he could see your face, but his behaviour indicated otherwise. Maybe he hadn’t even looked. He was strong, and so were you, but not enough to keep both of your blades from inching more and more closely toward your neck. You panicked; stepped to the side as you continued to push against the attack. He drew back, at which point you tried to jump, but you fumbled; fell to the ground. 

In no time, he was standing over you. You raised your lightsaber, just in time for it to clash with his once more. Desperately, you cried out his name again; this time, he answered you— but, he didn’t stop pressing; didn’t withdraw his weapon.

He almost snarled, “What are you doing with that?”

“Right now I’m defending myself with it! _Stop attacking me!”_

He glared down at you with, perhaps, the most intense look you’d ever seen on a person’s face; continued to push and stare. Eventually— _finally_ — he retracted his blade. Once he had, you did the same with your own; stared up at him from the ground until he opted to clip the hilt of his weapon back onto his belt. He was silent; seemed to be examining you. 

“I didn’t realize who you were at first,” he said flatly; followed by, _”Who said you could touch that?”_ as he motioned toward the object in your hand.

Your panic was only just starting to subside; your breathing was still ragged. “Your father did,” you answered. “You could have killed me!”

“I was going to, before I knew it was you.” His expression was still gravely serious, but he put out his hand for you anyway; pulled you up onto your feet. He looked you up and down first; then, he trained his eyes once more on your lightsaber. “...My father let you use that?” He sounded highly skeptical.

“Yes,” you told him. “He gave it to me.”

 _”Gave_ it to you?”

“Ask him yourself,” you said. “He’s inside waiting for his medicine. You did bring it, didn’t you?”

Luke retrieved from over his shoulder a bag he’d been carrying with him. “It’s right here.” He sighed; shook his head. “I’m sorry— I just didn’t—”

“It’s fine,” you interrupted. “Let’s go see him— he needs what you brought and he needs it now.” Anakin, in fact, had been asleep when you had left to go outside and practice; he’d been sleeping a lot over the course of the past few days. You understood; he needed to preserve his strength in the face of the infection he was battling. Rest was the best remedy for him in lieu of the drugs he needed.

“Is he alright?” asked Luke, seemingly having forgotten his anger entirely.

“For now,” you said as you stared at the bag. “But he won’t be for long if he doesn’t get more medicine.” You shifted your gaze; made eye-contact with Luke. “Thank you,” you added, because you weren’t angry either. “You got here right on time, you know.”

With a hint of a smile, he answered, “I’d do anything to make my father well.”

You understood, because you too would have done anything to help Anakin— even if your view of his prognosis was not nearly as rosy as Luke’s. You both looked over at the ship, and then back at one another before beginning to make your way over to it.

A lightsaber might have just nearly beheaded you, but right at that moment, you were simply grateful that Anakin would not have to wait any longer to start to feel a bit better.

You always wanted Anakin to feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing protective Luke. 
> 
> I know there wasn’t much to that. Hang tight; there’ll be more of the poor kid and his dad soon.


	27. Be Quiet

“If he’s still sleeping,” you told Luke as you stood together in the tiny airlock of the ship in which you cared for his father, “then there’s no need to startle him. I can start giving him the new medicine without waking him up.”

“Alright,” he answered. “I can’t stay for very long, though— when do you think he’ll wake up on his own?”

“I’m not sure. He’s been sleeping a lot since he developed the infection I told you about.” You gestured to Luke’s bag; added, “He should feel better within a couple of days, though, since he’ll be getting enough of what he needs, now.”

As you finally stepped into the ship, you realized that your initial point was moot: Anakin was already awake, and staring in the direction of the door to the airlock. You shouldn’t have expected anything different.

“Father,” greeted Luke, as he paced briskly over to the side of the bed. “How are you feeling?” 

_As well as can be expected under the circumstances,_ Anakin answered as he looked up at his son. _I could not help but notice, however, that you nearly killed the person to whom you’ve entrusted my care._

“...I didn’t realize who she was,” Luke confessed somewhat sheepishly; then, “I’m sorry, Father; I promise to pay more attention next time.” After that, as if to change the subject, he held up his bag so that it could be seen. “I brought the medicine you need— your caretaker says it should start to work soon.”

You took what Luke had, then, and silently gave him in return an antibacterial solution with which he could coat his hands prior to touching his parent. As he applied it, Anakin asked him, _Have you spoken to your sister?_

‘Sister’? You had turned your back to the both of them in favour of unpacking the bag at your desk, but you were certain that the look on your face would have indicated your surprise if either of them could see it. Anakin had never mentioned having more than one child.

“...Yes,” answered Luke, and all of a sudden he sounded tentative; almost nervous. He continued anyway, “You wouldn’t believe what an effective leader she’s turning out to be. You’d be proud of her.”

 _Proud, certainly, but not at all surprised,_ Anakin told his son.

Luke sounded glad to have the opportunity to point out, “She gets it from you, Father. Obi-wan told me all about what an effective commander you were when he served with you during the Clone Wars.”

You still weren’t looking in his direction, but Anakin seemed to scoff at that. _The efficacy of your mother’s leadership always greatly surpassed that of my own._ Then it was his turn to sound uncharacteristically hesitant as he asked, _...Has she changed her mind?_

Luke sighed. “No, she hasn’t.”

 _I see._

“She just doesn’t understand— eventually, I’m sure she’ll—”

 _Forget that I asked,_ Anakin interrupted. _She has every reason to want to stay away from me._ It hurt you to hear him make that concession, but it also told you a bit about why he might have opted not to mention her to you. It must have been painful for him to be rejected by his own daughter.

“No, Father, I won’t forget. _She’ll come around._ Even if it takes some time.”

_I have told you before that I do not have the luxury of time._

You turned around; you’d managed by now to both clean your hands, and prepare the antibiotic for infusion. As you walked over to the bed with a small bag to be hooked up to Anakin’s intravenous line, Luke sat down in your chair; pulled it up close to the head of his father’s bed.

“Don’t say things like that,” he said gently. “I told you— _I can fix you._ I’ve been talking to doctors from all over the galaxy; doctors who can help us.” He grasped the upper part of Anakin’s arm and smiled hopefully. “One of them even says he’s willing to look at the box in your chest; that he might be able to help you move your limbs.”

 _No more surgeries,_ the former Sith Lord told his son decidedly.

“But Father, I—”

“No... more... _surgeries,”_ he reiterated, this time using his voice. You had the fresh medicine hooked up to him by now, but since you weren’t sure what to do with yourself, you walked back over to your desk and pretended to look at a datapad. It was difficult not to speak up in Anakin’s defence, but a large part you still felt it wasn’t your place to do so.

Luke made a noise indicating that he was frustrated. _”Father,_ ” he said, and it sounded to you as though he were scolding. “Don’t you understand? I’m not ready to lose you yet— _I can’t lose you yet._ If someone can do something to help you, don’t you think it’s worth it to try?”

 _I have been in pain ever since you dragged me from the Emperor’s battle station._ Now Anakin seemed frustrated, too. You glanced behind yourself at the monitors; his heart rate was rising, along with his blood pressure and the pace of his respiration. Did Luke not understand that he was only upsetting his father? 

You noticed him tighten his grip on Anakin’s arm, at which point you nearly interjected. “You need to trust me, Father,” said Luke. “When I say I’ll make it better, I mean it. Don’t you know I’d do anything for you?”

_The best thing for you to do would be—_

_”Stop!”_ Luke’s gentle intonation left him at that point; graciously, he at least let go of your patient. “I’ve told you— you can’t talk that way! You have to—”

“That’s enough for now,” you finally said, as you set down the datapad and walked assertively over to the side of the bed opposite your chair. As you placed a hand on Anakin’s face (you always touched his face when he needed calming down), you narrowed your eyes at Luke and asked, “Can’t you understand that this isn’t helpful to him?” 

The younger of the two seemed taken aback, but only momentarily. He began to stand up; glared back at you while he did. Once he was on his feet, he accused, _“You_ don’t understand! I’m not going to let him give up; not now. Don’t you think he deserves better than this?”

“Of course I do,” you said, “but I also think your definition of ‘better’ differs a bit from your father’s. _You need to respect that.”_ You stood up straight; took your hand off of Anakin, but kept your eyes trained on his son. 

You noticed that Luke’s own hands had started to tremble. “You don’t know what you’re talking about— you’re here to keep him alive; not make decisions. _Did you forget what you’re supposed to be doing?”_

“I’m starting to believe I know better than you do,” you half-shouted, perhaps without thinking. 

That angry snarl from the woods returned to Luke’s face as he yelled back, “You’re replaceable— did you know _that?_ There are doctors who want to help him; all you seem to want to do is—”

 _”Quiet,”_ wheezed Anakin suddenly, from his unfortunate position between you and his son. You each looked down at him, and then back at each other. “Be... _quiet.”_

You both obeyed. Luke took a breath; seemed to gather himself before apologizing to his father. You did the same, and looked at the monitors as you replaced your hand on Anakin. You didn’t notice yourself begin to stroke his face with your thumb, much as you had when he’d been frightened by the oxygen mask. When you glanced back at Luke, he was still staring at you... albeit with less anger and intensity than before. Slowly, he sat back down in your chair; looked instead at his parent. There was an undeniable forlornness in his gaze; it made you feel guilty for shouting at him.

Leaning down so that you could speak to Anakin more closely, you assured him quietly, “It’s going to be alright— _you’re_ going to be alright.” After that, you looked across him at Luke. “And us— _we’re_ going to stop arguing... aren’t we?”

Luke nodded contritely; then, the room went silent... save, of course, for the ever-present hum of the machinery helping to keep Anakin alive. 

Finally, the man over whose existence you’d been fighting closed his eyes and appeared to fall back into what you hoped what a deep and restful sleep. Whatever his ultimate fate, he’d been correct: What he needed most right now was peace, and quiet.

Neither you nor Luke would say anything more until he woke up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(


	28. Irreplaceable

_You handled yourself well against my son in the woods._

“What are you talking about? He nearly killed me.”

You were inside, sitting beside Anakin at the head of his bed. Luke was outdoors because he had offered to take the waste generated over the course of the day, and bury it in your ditch for you. You supposed it might have been his way of tangibly apologizing to his father for his behaviour earlier, but you really couldn’t be sure.

_You are inexperienced, and he is incredibly skilled. You performed well._

You smiled; looked in Anakin’s direction. “Thank you,” you said. It was nice of him to compliment you, particularly after the day he’d had.

 _I also hope you realize that he was incorrect,_ he told you, as he turned his head to look at you in return. There was a certain vulnerability inherent in his gaze just then; you weren’t quite used to it.

“Incorrect?” you asked. “What about?” 

In what you knew was the most ardent voice he could muster, he breathed in response, “You... are... _not_ … ‘replaceable’.”

You tried not to let your smile widen altogether too much, even though it was difficult. “It’s kind of you to say that, Anakin.”

_I do not say things for the mere purpose of being ‘kind’._

No, you supposed he typically didn’t. “Maybe not,” you admitted. “But I also know that you know just about anybody could do my job.” You hoped the anxiety brought on by that thought didn’t come through in your voice. Of course you were replaceable; easily, in fact. Anyone with adequate training could have done what you did for Anakin; there were innumerable people just like you scattered all throughout the galaxy.

_If that is what you think, then you are as badly mistaken as Luke._

A laugh escaped you; you couldn’t help it. “I’m glad you think so,” you said. “Nothing about this is ideal, but I’d be lying if I were to say I didn’t like being here with you.” That was true— in spite of everything, you’d grown to very much appreciate Anakin and his company; more, maybe, than you even realized yet. You didn’t like thinking about being sent away from him any more than you liked to think about losing him to his own frailties. Really, it was easy to understand where Luke was coming from... even if you didn’t quite see eye-to-eye.

 _I will not allow you to be cast off,_ he promised, which you’d never have expected. _Your presence makes existing this way infinitely more bearable than it would be otherwise._

“...I do what I can.” His honesty made you feel somewhat taken aback. You also felt compelled to touch him, however, and so you did: You raised a hand and placed it gingerly on the side of his head. You were quiet for a few long moments as you ran your fingertips along the edge of one of his more prominent scars; he had _so many_ scars. To know him ought to have been to know that he absolutely did not need any more of them. 

_I wish my son shared your perspective,_ he lamented. Sometimes you forgot that he could sneak into your mind at his own leisure. He’d been doing it a lot recently; it made you feel exposed, but you didn’t mind feeling that way with Anakin. He had no choice but to let you see all of him; you thought it was only fair that he get an equally intimate peek at your mind. He’d more than earned it.

“I wish he did, too,” you said. Really, you simply wished Luke would listen— listen to his father; listen to you. “He’s stubborn, isn’t he?”

_Stubborn, and blind._

“Blind?”

 _His feelings have stunted his wisdom,_ clarified Anakin. _He loves as I once loved._

“How did you used to love?” You were very curious about that, particularly given Luke’s own steadfastness. 

_Foolishly,_ he answered derisively. _To be blinded by love is a detriment._

Before you had an opportunity to begin to wonder once more about what might have led Anakin to that conclusion, Luke stepped back in from outside. He gave you a strange look, which prompted you to remove your hand from his father. All he said, though, was that he was going to clean himself up with the help of your rather meagre shower facilities prior to settling in for the single night through which he intended to stay. 

Once he was out of earshot, you said to Anakin, “I’ll try to talk to him before he leaves.” You were quickly coming upon the realization that the elder Skywalker was primarily at his son’s mercy as far as his condition was concerned; that he was likely to end up acquiescing to care he didn’t want for the sake of sparing Luke’s feelings. For someone who seemed so vehemently opposed to the idea of being governed by one’s sentimentality, Anakin’s love for his child certainly appeared to be a central feature of his own decision-making.

He wasn’t about to let go, it seemed, without permission.

He looked back up at the ceiling, then, and repeated what he’d said when Luke had first arrived: _No more surgeries._

“No,” you agreed. “No more surgeries.”

You got up to begin your evening routine not long after, hopeful that you might be able to have a productive conversation with Luke before he went off again to do whatever it was Jedi did. You wouldn’t have trusted for a minute any doctor who said he wanted to root around inside of Darth Vader’s chest in the first place; a large part of you was incredulous that Luke would actively seek one out. Somewhat cynically, you were beginning to believe that Anakin might just be correct in his evaluation of the nature of love.

As you laid out a blanket on the floor for yourself to use that night (Luke, you thought, should be near his father while he slept; to be with his parent was what he seemed to want more than anything), you tried as hard as you could not to contemplate the way you felt about what you were witnessing.

After all... your feelings really didn’t matter, did they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww.
> 
> Looking forward to that chat with Luke.


	29. Let Go

The rest of Luke’s brief visit passed uneventfully. You were a bit surprised that he didn’t continue to press you in regard to his father’s care; however, you were grateful that Anakin did not have to witness the two of you arguing over him again. You’d given father and son a bit of time alone together that morning, but had no idea what they’d talked about, if they’d talked about anything. Now, having left Anakin to sleep off the lingering effects of the infection from which he was still recovering, you were walking with Luke back to where he’d landed his ship. This time, he'd arrived in a well-worn X-Wing fighter. You’d never seen one this close-up before— it was far bigger than you would have expected.

As you came to the edge of the clearing Luke had elected to use as his landing pad, he retracted the blade of his lightsaber— he’d been forging a path through the woods with it. (You had yours, too, although Luke hadn’t said anything more about it... at least not to you.) You wanted to talk to him, but weren’t sure quite how to begin. 

As it turned out, he would spare you the effort.

“My father insists on remaining in your care,” he said as he turned to look at you, with an expression on his face you couldn’t quite decipher.

“I’m happy to continue to provide it,” you answered. “But I think—”

“No,” he interrupted. “I won’t change my mind about trying to fix him.” He had clearly anticipated what you were going to say. You noticed that when it came to making Anakin well, Luke tended to speak of him as if he were a broken power-converter instead of a person who’d been hurt. Maybe it was less painful to think of him that way; maybe Luke was simply too accustomed to fixing ships and droids. It made you wonder just how many human beings he happened to be close to, aside from his own father.

“He doesn’t want to be fixed,” you told him gently, even though he already knew. “I’ve provided palliative care before. I can make him comfortable; you can stay at his side. He—”

 _”Stop it with that!”_ Luke suddenly sounded very angry, although now he looked as if he might be about to cry. “Can’t you understand that I just got him back? And my sister— she still has to forgive him. How can he die if she hasn’t forgiven him?” He shook his head. “You should understand better than anyone why I need him alive.”

You tilted your head; offered a curious look. “What do you mean by that?” Why would he assume you to have any special understanding of his father’s feelings? He’d said it himself; you were only a healer— one of many, and (despite Anakin’s opinion) utterly replaceable.

Luke sighed; looked down at the ground before turning his gaze back toward you. His expression had become unreadable once again, but as he stared, you couldn’t help but note the intensity in his eyes. At least you knew where he got it from.

“You know exactly what I mean by that,” he said gravely.

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

 _”You love him.”_ He stepped up closely to you; grabbed your hand forcefully with his own. You hadn’t noticed that its construction was mechanical prior to experiencing its grip. “I can tell you love him. The way you touch him; the way you look at him. Not to mention the way he looks at you— _did you know that he loves you back?”_

You wanted to move away, but couldn’t. Luke seemed to be acting unpredictably to say the least; besides that, you now felt very much exposed— and this time, you didn’t appreciate it. “Did he tell you that?” you asked, although you doubted very much that he had. Your free hand gravitated to your lightsaber, because you were beginning to feel frightened.

Luke smiled widely; laughed. As he squeezed your fingers just a bit too tightly, he confirmed for you emphatically, “He didn’t have to! _I can see it._ ” He didn’t give you time to say anything else before pleading, “Don’t you want him to be able to put his arms around you? Walk in the woods with you?” He gestured with his free hand at the trees; the sky. _”I can make that happen._ And now I know for a fact that you can help him hang on for me. Don’t you want that for him? For yourself?”

You paused for a few very long moments. Luke was right about the way you felt (which, of course, was an ethical conundrum in and of itself), but you certainly didn’t appreciate his using your apparently obvious love for his father to manipulate you— and that was certainly what it appeared to you that he was doing. 

“You know as well as I do how broken he is,” you finally said. “How can you not see that all he wants now is peace?” 

You thought about how he’d burned; about how he’d had his legs cut off by someone who’d once cared deeply for him. You recalled the searing pain of the macabre surgery he’d endured— _awake_ — for the sake of the Emperor’s greed and selfishness. You thought about the box in his chest, and the damaged breather fused to his back; the noises he made when he struggled to take in air. Perhaps most significantly to you, you pictured the fear in his eyes as you’d held that oxygen mask up to his face so that he wouldn’t suffocate.

“I’d never be able to forgive myself if I knew he’d endured being sliced apart again just to hold my hand,” you finished unsteadily, before you realized you felt like crying, too. You tried to pull yourself away from Luke at that point; found you couldn’t. He wasn’t letting go. He was so close now, in fact, that you could feel the heat from his breath on your face. 

“With or without your help, I’m going to save him,” he hissed with more than a hint of renewed anger. “And if you _don’t_ help me, I _will_ send you away— whether it’s what he wants or not.” He did let go of your hand then; if he could have thrown it to the ground, you knew he would have. “If you want to be responsible for breaking his heart,” he threatened, “then fine— but when he wakes up from his next surgery and you’re not there, know that you’ll have been the one who hurt him.” He shook his head again. “Not me,” he emphasized. _”You.”_

You took several steps back, now that you could. There was so much you wanted to say, but Luke didn’t give you time to say it. He turned away from you, and began to step heavily toward his ship. Anakin was right— for as intuitive as he was, he was also completely blind.

“I don’t trust that doctor,” you called out after him. “I don’t trust him, and you shouldn’t either!” You wanted to add that what he was doing was sick, and that love couldn’t save anybody— but, he’d already taken his seat at the controls; was entirely closed-in by the cockpit’s dome.

Soon, the engines on that old, battered X-Wing had started. The noise was deafening, and the trees around you shook as the ship began to levitate. A red glow bathed you momentarily; then, its wings spread out and Luke flew off into the sky. 

You watched until there was nothing left to see before turning back toward the tiny ship in which you’d now been stranded for the better part of a year, and the man inside of it. Of course you loved him; how could you not have loved him? It made you feel ashamed— you were not supposed to love patients the way you knew you’d grown to love Anakin; not under any circumstances. Now that it had been said out loud, however, the fact of it was no longer something you could manage to avoid.

The idea of him being cut open again had never seemed more horrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first started this, I knew this was where I wanted to go with poor Luke.


	30. Inheritance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is long.

_Once again, I feel the need to apologize for my son’s conduct._

You shook your head, and then you sighed. It had been just one day since Luke had gone away again. Although Anakin seemed to be feeling better as far as his infection was concerned, a palpable melancholy had overtaken the inside of the ship you’d become so accustomed to sharing with him. It was pervasive and uncomfortable— inescapable. It enveloped the both of you like a thick, rough blanket you couldn’t kick off.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” you answered quietly. You were standing beside Anakin’s bed right now; there was a small basin of sterile water resting on the seat of the chair next to you, along with a tube of bacta-based antibacterial ointment. In your hand you held a small, clean cloth.

 _You’ve scarcely said a word since his departure,_ he noted. He was correct— you had, in fact, been uncharacteristically silent in the hours following your return to his side after watching his son’s X-Wing disappear into space. The way you saw it, you didn’t have much of anything productive to say: You felt both useless and fearful in the face of the strength of Luke’s ambition, and guilty for not being able to do more to defend his father from it. 

Besides that, coming to terms with your own newly-acknowledged feelings toward Darth Vader was thus far proving to be a challenge.

“I have been a bit quiet, haven’t I?” you confirmed, followed by an apology of your own.

 _It was less a criticism than an observation,_ Anakin countered, seeming to imply that you didn’t need to be sorry, either. That made you smile; look over at his face.

“You were right, you know,” you told him, because you thought he deserved to hear you say it.

 _Right about what?_ he asked, as you pulled from off his body the thin sheet that often covered him, and began the process of removing the heavy, plasticized girdle he still wore on the lower-half of his torso. It was amongst the last vestiges of his suit; the only thing it still made sense for him to wear with any regularity. It didn’t look comfortable, exactly, but it kept him from coming into prolonged contact with the gurney on which he lay; made it easier for you to stop him from developing ulcers, and other skin infections.

“Right about love,” you said, bending to unclasp the sides of his only garment. “It’s clouding your son’s judgement.” It also happened to be deeply impacting your own impression of yourself, and your aptitude. You didn’t say that, however; tried not to think it, either.

_He is far too much like me. His mother was kind, but she valued her principles over her emotions, no matter the circumstance. I regret that he seems to have failed to inherit that particular quality._

“Tell me something about her— your children’s mother, I mean.” He rarely mentioned her; when he did, it was with a sad-seeming reverence. You’d been curious about her for a long time.

 _I believe I just did,_ he said plainly (perhaps even defensively), as you carefully removed the hunk of padded plastic. The task required that you lift his legs one-by-one while shifting him about so as to slide the bottom part from beneath his body. The durasteel made his limbs feel heavy, but you knew just how little substance there now was to the parts of them made of his own flesh and bone. You hated the idea of someone who had once been so powerful slowly wasting away.

“Something else— something about the two of you.” You paused; placed the girdle on the floor. You would sterilize it once you were finished cleaning and drying his skin. “How did you meet?”

He was silent; stayed that way for what felt like a long time. You realized you’d been staring at him in anticipation, and so you stopped doing that; returned to your task by dipping the cloth into the water. It was warm, along with the air in the room. Heating the water meant having to boil it, and then waiting for it to cool off. You never minded that, though— the boiling served to clean it; anyway, you’d never have bathed Anakin using water that was too cold. 

Just as you started to say that you were sorry for asking, he answered you with, _We met when I was very young._

You couldn’t help but smile once again at that revelation. “At school, you mean?”

He scoffed, _I did not attend ‘school’ as a child. Where I grew up, I was a slave— she came to my Master’s shop one day seeking assistance._ He went quiet again very briefly before deciding to reveal to you, _I thought about her every day for years following our introduction._

“That’s lovely,” you said. Not his having been a slave, of course— that was a travesty. “She must have made quite an impact on you.”

 _She certainly did,_ he agreed, although somewhat abruptly.

“Where is she now?” you asked, not yet realizing what a terribly foolish question that really was. While you waited for an answer, you stepped up to the head of Anakin’s bed and began to very gently run the damp cloth over his scalp, and his neck. You were incredibly careful with the area around his new feeding port.

He drew as deep a breath as you knew him to be able to take in; exhaled somewhat haltingly before finally answering you, “She... is _dead._ ”

“Oh.” Perhaps you ought to have guessed. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say anything. As you dabbed gently at his face, he seemed to make a deliberate effort to avoid maintaining eye-contact with you; he hadn’t done that for a long time. Part of you now wished you hadn’t asked him anything at all about the woman who’d given him his children.

“Your old incision is healing well,” you said next, in an attempt to shift the subject. “It almost looks like it was never there.” You weren’t exaggerating— whatever scarring might have been left by his infected port, it was essentially invisible by now. It _was_ mending itself half-decently; however, more than that, it seemed to be simply blending into the other, older scars surrounding it— the ones from when he’d burned. 

He was still silent, so you were quiet again, too. You dampened the cloth once more, squeezed out the excess water, and started to clean the twisted, gnarled landscape of his chest and shoulders. You took your time; neither of you was in any particular rush— and besides that, it was nice to touch him; it was always nice to touch him. As the months had gone by, you’d begun to take comfort in the more intimate facets of his care, whether you should have or not. Typically, it was plain to see that he did, too.

Today, though, he was tense; more tense than you were used to him being.

“Am I hurting you?” He had appeared to grimace at the sensation of the cloth passing over the upper part of his breast bone, just above the box set into his chest. 

_No._

“Are you sure? It seems like—”

_**No.**_

“Alright.”

You stood up straight; lifted his right arm first, because it was closest to you. Once you’d gone over it thoroughly, you leaned over him to clean the other one, too. When those were finished, you freshened the cloth yet again and tended to the skin concealing his rib cage, along with that which surrounded the respirator on his back. You didn’t need to lift him to do it, because the device itself kept his actual body from coming into contact with the surface of the gurney. 

The thought occurred to you that you hoped he might be willing to sit up for you later, now that he was beginning to bounce back a bit from his infection.

You glanced at his face expectantly— that was just the sort of silent musing to which he’d normally have responded. Alas, this time he said nothing, 

Still with utmost gentleness, you worked your way below the box. The bottom portion of his rib cage jutted out sharply, as did the bones of his hips. Both the breadth of his scarring and the extent to which he’d wasted away seemed altogether too obvious here— you were slow and careful; the very last thing you wanted to do was hurt him: To see Anakin in pain was heart-wrenching. Unfortunately, you didn’t feel as if you were doing an especially good job of easing his discomfort today.

 _Did you already forget what I said to you before?_ He sounded perturbed.

“What?” You had no idea what he was talking about just then.

 _ **Your presence makes this bearable.** You have no cause to doubt your abilities._ Oh. You wished you could tell when he was poking around inside your head.

You stopped to wet the cloth again before sponging the concave pit of his stomach, and snaking your hand underneath him to reach the admittedly jarring arch of his lower back. “...Did you know that you make this bearable for me, too?” 

_In my present condition, I am more a burden to you than anything else. I feel inclined toward offering you an apology for that as well._

“You’re hardly a burden,” you said, shooting him a glare as you did. He should have known better than to think that by now, you thought. The face he made in response to your hard stare betrayed curiosity, which caused you to soften your own expression. “The only time being here ever felt unbearable to me was when you wouldn’t speak.”

 _I remained silent to save you the trouble of interacting with me any more than was necessary for you to perform your tasks._ It seemed he couldn’t possibly have guessed that you might enjoy his companionship— even in the complete absence of any other human contact.

“I’d have expected Darth Vader to think more highly of himself,” you told him, before running the warm cloth down the mangled length of one of his thighs.

He sighed. _Darth Vader died along with the Emperor,_ he finally admitted to you. _Anyhow, self-assuredness is for the young, and the unwise. My son is evidence of that._

Although he’d lost the bulk of the anatomy between his legs to a pool of lava long before you’d ever met him, you treated that particular area of his body as though it were exactly like anyone else’s— kindly, and with great sensitivity. He’d seemed to have ceased experiencing embarrassment during his washing ritual months ago, and you were glad of it. He had nothing to be embarrassed about, after all.

“Maybe you’re right about that too,” you said. Absentmindedly, you wondered if perhaps he’d loved Luke’s mother with the same ardency with which Luke seemed to love him. 

_You are intuitive._

“I’m sorry.” You hadn’t meant to think quite so loudly.

_You should know that I killed her._

You stopped moving as suddenly as he made his confession. “You what?”

 _I killed her,_ he repeated. His intonation was indecipherable. You set the cloth down beside the basin of water on the seat, and peered once more at his face. He was staring at the ceiling, expressionless.

“Why are you telling me that?” you asked. He’d been completely unforthcoming about his relationship with her up until today; now he was all of a sudden electing to tell you that he’d been the cause of her death?

_I already told you— **you should know.**_

“I’m sure you didn’t mean to harm her,” you suggested quietly— hopefully. He must have meant that he crashed a ship with her inside of it, or perhaps that he failed to rescue her from some external threat, as had happened with his own mother. You got up to find a fresh towel with which to dry his skin.

While your back was turned to him, _I used the Force to choke the life out of her. She had no recourse._

You’d found the towel by then; had started to step back over to him. “Why, Anakin?” you asked. “Why would you have done that?” You weren’t combative, or accusing— merely inquisitive. If he hadn’t spoken so plainly, you’d have thought he were exaggerating his role in her demise. 

_She refused to let me save her life,_ he informed you paradoxically. 

You began to dry him off thoroughly; applying the bacta ointment necessitated it. You started at his head just as before, working gently and at the same slow pace as you always did, because he was still the same person now as he’d been ten minutes ago— before he’d told you what he had done. It was important to you that he understand that.

You knew for certain now that Luke had inherited more than just his father’s icy, insistent stare; perhaps more importantly, you had become entirely aware of the fact that the way you felt about Anakin was not liable to change any time soon. 

Because he’d apparently been rooting around your mind again, he said to you with what sounded like intense regret, _You shouldn’t love me._

“I can’t help it,” you told him. “It’s not up to me.” What would have been the point in denying what he already knew to be the truth?

He apologized to you yet again, and then he fell silent. 

You finished your work on his body sedately, with tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess they have some stuff to talk about. I sure hope he decides to ask to sit up with her for a while.


	31. A Whisper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short.

The warmth was remarkable, and it was so familiar that it kept you from feeling frightened. You had no idea where you were, but wherever it was, it was somewhere comfortable; more comfortable than you could remember having been for a very long time. To recline atop something soft was an immense relief, particularly after sleeping in a chair for months on end. 

You started to speak, but the arms which happened to be wrapped around you squeezed as tightly as it seemed they safely could, and a set of lips told you from directly beside your ear, _”Shh,”_ before offering what felt like a very tentative kiss to your jaw.

One of your own hands rested, fingers spread wide, against a swath of impossibly strong muscle; someone’s back, to be sure. Your other hand was entirely tangled up in thick, long tendrils of hair that smelled like sweat and soap, and felt like fine silk. You must have been in a bed; it had to be a bed, because where else would anyone have pressed their own body into yours like this? It had been such a long time since you’d last experienced anything like it that you had hardly noticed how much you’d ached for it.

“Anakin,” you said, because in spite of everything, you knew. You just knew.

 _”Be quiet,”_ he reiterated, and pressed his nose into the side of your neck as you combed the tangles out of his hair gently with your fingertips.

“Show me your face,” you whispered, because you were curious; incredibly curious.

“No,” he said, and he adjusted his body; reached downward with one of his hands: Wherever you were, he had two of them here. One was made of durasteel (for how long had he been living without pieces of himself?); however, they both worked.

They worked _perfectly—_ you drew a sharp breath in as he used one of them to guide himself, and you came into another sensation; one you hadn’t felt since before the fall of the Empire. When _had_ you last joined with another person this way? You couldn’t even remember; all of a sudden, it might as well have only ever been him. Nothing and no one had ever felt quite like this.

“Please?” you breathed, as you writhed and grasped. You wanted to know what he used to look like.

“If I let you see my face here,” he explained very quietly, letting a set of lips as smooth and soft as rose petals brush up against your earlobe, “I’ll be terrified that you won’t want to look at me anymore when we wake up.”

That was a ridiculous notion; so much so that you didn’t know what to say to it. “How are you doing this?” you asked him instead, followed by a desperate whimper as he brought his hand back up so that he could brace himself, and shift his body atop yours... all while continuing to keep his features out of your line of sight. 

“Not without some effort,” he informed you, and you wondered what he meant by that. Then, _”Please let me do this for you.”_

“Anakin, I—”

He interrupted you by beginning to move his hips. He moved them quickly and hungrily; moved them as though he were short on time, or perhaps simply as though it had been too long for him in just the same way as it had been for you. You let him; why wouldn’t you have let him? You loved him— you loved him very much, and he must have loved you too, or else you knew he’d never have even attempted this.

What was ‘this’, anyway?

Now was not the time to contemplate, you realized. If this was difficult for him to do, and if he was doing it because of the way you made him feel, then you ought not to question it. You’d always have plenty of time to think; however, no matter how much time you would end up spending with Anakin, you knew for a fact that it would never feel like you’d had enough. 

“I love you,” you said, and you hadn’t truly understood just how much you’d wanted to say it aloud until you finally did.

“I love _you,”_ he answered, and he sounded breathless... but, not in any way that you were used to. Why did it hurt you to hear him sound so strong?

It occurred to you that it was likely because you knew he really wasn’t anymore.

Having closed your eyes at that thought, you squeezed his hair in your fingers; ran your opposite hand across his back as you pulled him in closely. The way he would be when you woke up didn’t seem to matter here. It certainly didn’t matter to you— not if it meant that he could feel for a while the way you believed he deserved to feel; free of wires and tubes, and gnarled skin and missing parts.

It would have been cruel not to let him give you this; besides that, you wanted it as much as he seemed to want it... and you wanted it as much as you’d ever wanted anything.

You were grateful beyond words to him for showing you a place where he could exist without pain, even if you knew for certain that it couldn’t possibly last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They were always going to wind up getting this; I just wasn’t sure when I was going to give it to them.
> 
> Anakin is so extra. ❤️😭


	32. Repercussion

You woke up a bit short of breath; a bit warm in the face. Your skin was damp, but you couldn’t tell whether you’d been crying or sweating. The first thing you did was turn your head toward Anakin; in sharp contrast to his own belief, you didn’t care what he looked like— you simply wanted to see him. 

The second thing you did was rise quickly from your chair, because he was gasping for air, and clearly in distress.

The remainder of the musculature in his chest was contracting sharply; you could observe with ease every one of his bones and tendons through his skin. He was paler than you’d ever seen him, with his eyes opened up wide and fixed helplessly on the ceiling. The sounds he was making indicated that his airway was badly restricted; since you already knew that a foreign object was not the cause of the problem, you rushed to retrieve and attach a prepared bag of intravenous steroids to the line running into his vein. You always had them ready, because he often came into trouble with his breathing: His lungs and esophagus were thick with old scar tissue, which frequently became inflamed. If it didn’t work quickly enough, you’d simply have to inject him— he was far too weak to use an inhaler.

Once the medicine had started its journey into his body, you bent down to stroke his face. He loved to have you stroke his face, and you knew it— knew it better now than ever, in fact.

“Anakin,” you said gently, and you tried to make eye contact with him.

He wheezed; maybe he was trying to say your name, or maybe he was trying to say something else. You couldn’t know— he never seemed to be able to speak with his mind when he was panicking.

This time you were the one to tell him, _”Be quiet._ You don’t need to use your voice; just breathe.”

He seemed to try again anyway, making you wince at the sheer depth of the hollow at the base of his neck. You looked at his IV bag expectantly, as if you thought that might make it get to work more quickly.

“Stop, Anakin— _it’s alright.”_ You always told him it was alright, because that was what you always thought he needed to hear. 

After that, the medicine started to work. It had barely been a minute, but even that length of time felt like an eternity: Minutes always seemed like hours when somebody couldn’t breathe. Soon— graciously— Anakin was calming down, his internal inflammation apparently beginning to subside. Finally, he was able meet your gaze with his. You loved to look at his eyes, and so you did that while you offered him a smile; a smile that you hoped told him you were happy to see him, because you most certainly were.

Once he seemed to have resumed breathing with some semblance of comfort, you said to him, “I’m sorry,” because you knew he’d badly overexerted himself, and that he’d done it specifically to please you.

 _I felt inclined toward doing something for you,_ he confirmed, demonstrating that he understood exactly why you were apologizing to him.

“I can’t tell you how much that meant to me,” you said to him, “but you have to promise you’ll never do it again.” He could have suffocated. What if you hadn’t woken in time to help him?

 _Promises are too often akin to lies,_ he opined contrarily, and you knew better than to try to argue his point.

“Will you sit up with me, Anakin? If you feel well enough?” You couldn’t think of anything you wanted more right at that moment than to sit face-to-face with him. Anyway, a change of position might even make it easier for him to breathe following his episode.

_Would that make you happy?_

“Yes,” you nodded. _”Yes,_ it would make me very happy.”

_Then I will— whenever you feel prepared to assist me, that is._

With immense gratitude, you knelt down on the floor and began immediately to adjust the gurney so that you could prop Anakin up.

You couldn’t seem to stop thinking about the way it felt to have him place his arms around you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that was short. I don’t expect you to stroke me off every time I write 600 words; don’t worry— I just thought that their waking up together after the last chapter ought to be its own ‘moment’, and this _is_ a story told primarily in moments. 
> 
> Thank you so much if you’re still following along! Sometimes writing this is a bit difficult, but it’s also an incredible amount of fun. If you happen to be enjoying it even half as much as I am, my appreciation for you is as endless as the power of the Force. :P <3


	33. Too Late

“I hope you understand that I can’t let anyone else hurt you,” you said as you sat down next to Anakin on the edge of the gurney, after completing your morning routine. 

You’d been quiet throughout the duration your work, and so had he: You’d changed out his waste receptacle, replaced his food, tended to his incisions, and checked him for signs of infection, all without the two of you exchanging words. It felt very different from the silence you had experienced when you’d first arrived; _this_ silence was a comfortable one, born more of familiarity than anxiety: You knew how to care for him to his liking without having to say much of anything; similarly, he had enough confidence in your aptitude that he felt no need to direct you. It was nice to do it all with him sitting up.

It had also given you time to think, and while you didn’t know whether or not he’d been probing your mind, you did know that you had come to a determined resolution: Anakin was not a training cadaver, and you were not going to allow him to be treated as one, whether it was what Luke wanted or not. 

_It is outside the scope of your duties to protect me from my son’s misguided expressions of affection,_ he told you. You appreciated his willingness to admit his having infiltrated your thoughts.

“I’m here to take care of you,” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder. Taking care of him meant sparing him unnecessary pain; besides that, you weren’t in the habit of allowing harm to come to people you loved. What his son felt the need to do to him was, in your view, unconscionable. You weren’t going to tolerate it anymore.

 _You will leave my son’s behaviour to me,_ he insisted, quite inexplicably.

As kindly as you could, “Luke doesn’t listen to you. He says he’s found a doctor, but I don’t trust anyone who wants to cut open your chest and meddle with your parts.”

_I’ll have more than earned whatever pain I experience at the hands of his ‘doctor’,_ Anakin told you. You could see the resignation in his eyes; hear it coming through in his mind’s voice, too. You hated knowing that he thought he deserved this.

You let your hand travel downward; rested it very gently atop the device set into his chest. You thought about how its haphazard blinking stood out when you dimmed the overhead lights at night, and then about the bacta solution you still had to apply around its edges from the last time he’d been sliced apart. He always winced when you did that, even on ‘good’ days.

“I know you don’t want any more surgeries, Anakin.”

_Luke’s persistence indicates to me that the matter is out of my hands._

“That’s precisely why I’m telling you that I won’t allow—”

He hardened his stare. _**You can, and you will.**_ He paused; looked away from you. _I’ve already robbed him of his mother. If he values my existence as much as it seems he does, then my fate belongs with him._

“You’ve told me again and again that what he’s doing is wrong— and I agree with you.” You glanced between his face, and your own hand on his chest box. Of course you wanted to save him. Luke had been cruel to tease you with fanciful images of you and his father walking side-by-side. 

You, however, had seen x-rays of his lungs; heard him struggle to breathe even in the finely-tuned atmosphere of the room in which you resided with him. What did that mad scientist expect to do about his respiration? You knew how much he hated his mask; you’d abandoned trying to fix it out of respect for his feelings months ago.

 _All I can hope for now is that he comes into that knowledge by himself._ His gaze had softened again; he looked almost apologetic.

“I’m tired of seeing you hurt with no end in sight,” you told him quietly. Your hand moved to rest atop his, now. You were on his left side; his wrist here, at least, didn’t end in a tangled mess of wires... however, you knew he couldn’t register your touch. You squeezed his fingers anyway. Luke had taken his gloves off before you had ever arrived; his steel digits were very stiff, but they sat limply next to him on his bed.

_And I am tired of pain,_ he said, _but as you already know, to lament one’s discomfort does very little to ease it._

“What are you going to do, then?” 

_Nothing._

“Nothing?” 

_Either my son will recognize his error, or I will suffer an appropriate penance for the manner in which I’ve lived my life._ He glanced at your hand; when he did, you squeezed his fingers again so he would at least know that you were doing it. 

“I think you’ve suffered enough, Anakin.” 

_It isn’t up to you— or to me, for that matter._

In a tone of voice which betrayed more of your frustration than you intended, you pointed out, “It’s not up to Luke, either!” 

_It makes sense to me that I should bear the consequence of someone else’s imprudent love,_ he argued calmly, and although you thought you might have understood, you certainly didn’t agree. For someone as well-travelled as you knew Anakin to be, his idea of what constituted justice seemed awfully primitive. You shook your head, and used your free hand to reach up and touch his face— not only because you knew he found it comforting, but because you did too. 

You didn’t say anything else; just studied him silently while he looked back at you with those eyes of his. You’d met plenty of people throughout the course of your life, including some who happened to be very beautiful; however, none of them had been quite so lovely as Anakin seemed to you right now. 

He must have been looking into your mind at just that moment, because he appeared to feel the need to reiterate, _You shouldn’t love me._

That made you feel sad, but you smiled anyway. “It’s too late,” you reminded him. “I already do.” 

He sighed as best he could sigh, and you felt him lean his head into your touch. _I understand,_ he assured you. _It must be too late for us both, then._

No, you decided: You couldn’t let anyone hurt Anakin anymore, even if the person attempting to do so happened to be his own flesh and blood. Any doctor willing to open him up, you knew, was infinitely more concerned with satisfying their own sick curiosity about the man who used to be Darth Vader than they were with trying to improve his life. 

You didn’t care whether he could hear your thoughts right now or not. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anakin has hardly ever had the luxury of being protected from anything. It feels good to protect him.


	34. Reassurance

_I think you should come inside._

“Are you alright— is there anything you need?”

 _Not as of this moment; however, I believe I can feel your exhaustion rather acutely._

“I’m fine,” you said, and you proceeded to use your lightsaber to slice through the trunk of a very large, very old tree. It had fallen long before you’d ever arrived, and to you, it was now a training aid. Anakin had tired of throwing rocks at you hours ago.

_I understand what you are trying to do, but—_

“Rest, Anakin,” you interrupted. “I’ll come inside when its time for you to eat.”

_I would advise against—_

“Please don’t.”

_...Very well. I am going to attempt to sleep for a while, then. **Do not injure yourself as a result of your foolishness.**_

“I won’t,” you promised, at which point he fell silent. You felt grateful to him for not arguing with you; you hated to argue with him, especially as of late.

You also didn’t like disregarding his advice, but you needed to be available to protect him; this was the only way you knew of that would allow you to accomplish as much. You didn’t expect to be able to defeat Luke Skywalker in a lightsaber duel, but you could certainly become quick and agile enough to get past him for the purpose of disabling anyone he brought in the interest of harming Anakin.

It seemed as if it had been a challenge for Luke to find somebody who was both willing and able to operate on his father; if you killed that doctor, finding another of his calibre (and questionable morality) might well prove impossible. You couldn’t know what Luke would do to you after the fact, and you certainly couldn’t guarantee Anakin’s safety or comfort following such a confrontation; however, this was all you had. It felt a bit like your only hope.

You shouted and jumped, and thrust your blade deep into a section of rotting wood; imagined that it was a person— a person trying to hurt someone you loved very much. It was easy; maybe too easy... but, you weren’t worried about that right now. You retracted your lightsaber, and stepped back to look at your work on the tree. You were quiet, and so was the forest.

You wanted to try to jump and stab through the wood again, and so you leapt to do exactly that. Just as you were about to extend your blade mid-air...

“Anakin’s other apprentice possessed a fervency not unlike your own,” said a voice you didn’t recognize. It caused you to postpone your attack and fumble your landing; you fell to the ground with a dull thud as you tried to identify its source. “I do feel I should offer my compliments on your use of my old weapon— it looks as if you are taking to the craft with great enthusiasm.”

It couldn’t be. “You’re dead,” you said, as your eyes settled on a form which was as unfamiliar to you as the voice emanating from it. You were no one’s apprentice, you thought, but you didn’t say that out loud.

An old man— older than Anakin, anyway— smiled at you knowingly. His appearance was ethereal; whimsical, even. He seemed to be both present in the forest with you, and incredibly far away all at once. He had a beard, and he wore robes; long ones. If someone had asked you to visualize a Jedi Knight, you’d likely have pictured a person who looked very much like the one standing before you right now.

“I’ve been dead a while,” he confirmed for you. “You should know as well as anyone how little that really means.”

You supposed he was right. “You’re Obi-Wan Kenobi, then?” you asked as you rose to your feet, although you were certain you already knew the answer to your own question.

“I am. I felt I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least try to speak with you.”

“You left him to burn,” you said, because it was the first thought that entered your mind.

“I presumed I was leaving him for dead— one of many errors I made throughout the course of my relationship with Anakin.”

“He doesn’t fault you,” you admitted, even though you, perhaps, still did.

“That isn’t what I came to talk to you about,” he said simply. 

“Then what is it? Unless you’re here to instruct me on how to—”

“It appears to me as though I’ve failed Luke in much the same way as I failed his father,” he interrupted. He looked you up and down, then, and an expression came onto his face that you couldn’t quite decode. “I sense that you are highly motivated toward making things right.”

You weren’t sure just what he meant. “All I want is for Anakin to find peace— that’s it.”

“Then you are already in possession of more wisdom than his son.” The old man gathered his robes; in spite of the fact that he was an entity not of this world, he moved to sit down on a nearby rock. You sat beside him, because you weren’t sure what else to do. You’d never spoken to a ghost before.

“Luke wants him to live,” you said, “but the cost of saving him is too high.”

Obi-Wan smiled again; looked you in the eye. “I can’t tell you how right you are,” he agreed. “That boy is too much like his father— I thought that concealing his parentage from him would keep him from emulating Anakin’s behaviour... but, I was wrong.”

You tilted your head at him. “How long has Luke known who he really is?” You realized that you had thus far assumed the younger Skywalker had always known his father’s identity. 

With a shake of his own head, Obi-Wan answered, “Not for very long at all— and the circumstances under which he uncovered the information were less than ideal.”

If having a father (or any parent, for that matter) was new to Luke, then his ardent desire to keep Anakin alive made a bit more sense to you. Well-intentioned or not, though, he was being selfish: His father’s body was broken beyond repair; he was fighting a losing battle at the expense of someone he purported to love.

“They take after one another,” you observed. 

“Maybe too much,” Obi-Wan conceded. Tentatively, “...Has Anakin told you much about his wife?”

He certainly hadn’t told you that they’d been married, but perhaps you should have already inferred that. “Yes,” you said. “He told me he killed her for refusing to let him help her.” It sounded as morbidly absurd when you said it now as when Anakin had first revealed it.

“The mere thought of being without her was enough to send him down a terrible path,” the ghost lamented. “He thrust himself into darkness because I failed to prepare him to handle the strength of his own feelings.”

“Anakin does feel things very strongly,” you acknowledged. His attempts to hide that fact from you had become less effective the better you had come to know him.

“Now it is his son whose emotions are threatening him.”

You sighed, and looked down at the ground. “You should know that my drive to preserve his dignity and allow him a peaceful death are motivated by the same sorts of feelings that are steering Luke in the wrong direction.” It would have been disingenuous to let Anakin’s old Master believe that you were driven purely by ethics, or a highly-developed sense of what constituted right and wrong.

“I already know you love him— if you didn’t, I’d likely not have bothered to visit you here.”

“How can I know I’m doing the right thing, in that case?” Love, while highly motivational, tended to make people prone to error. Anakin (and Luke, albeit unintentionally) had more than driven that particular point home for you during your tenure as his caregiver on this desolate little moon.

“I had a feeling you might be in need of some reassurance in that regard.”

“Is that what you’re here for?”

“There isn’t much else I can offer you, I’m afraid.” He took a deep breath; looked around at the forest. “I loved him— but, I couldn’t see through doctrine and dogma well enough to help him in time. His wife loved him, but his attachment to her poisoned his soul. The Emperor only ever lusted after his power; he never cared one bit. On top of all of that, his son’s love for him is twisted and selfish, in spite of Luke’s good nature.” 

You finally smiled back at him. “I’m loving him the right way, then? That’s what you’re trying to tell me?”

“Better than anyone else ever could, it seems.”

You sat together looking at the sun through the trees for an amount of time you never could have determined. When it finally started to dip below the point where you could still see it, you looked at the rock next to you, and found that the old Jedi Master had gone.

Normally you wouldn’t have been concerned with anyone else’s approval, but Obi-Wan Kenobi’s somehow felt good to have. You clutched his— _your_ — weapon tightly in your hand, and walked back toward the ship to finally have dinner with Anakin.

That, at least, was something you always looked forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was lots of fun, but it was a bit of a challenge not to let it go on for too long. Obi-Wan is infamously unforthcoming, and to let him get too chatty would have derailed the story. 
> 
> But, I do think he’s given Reader a bit of a moral boost— one she needs in order to go on trying to do the right thing. Luke & his dad certainly aren’t helping much, after all.


	35. Nobody Else

“Anakin,” you whispered. “Not again. You know what I—”

 _”Shhh._ You’re already talking too much.”

“But I told you—”

“Did you know,” he interrupted, “that I never did get to dance with my wife? Not even once?”

You were alone in a large, empty room; maybe a ballroom, maybe some other place altogether. You couldn’t tell, and really, it didn’t matter to you. You were stepping in a simple rhythm, moving slowly from left to right as you rested your head on a very formidable shoulder. An equally powerful arm held you closely to a broad chest, swathed in rich mahogany and possessing a warmth you knew quite well by now.

“Is it safe for you to do this?” you asked, pressing your hand into his back. He was draped in robes; they swayed gently along with the two of you as you moved.

“It seems safer than what I did the last time, doesn’t it?” You weren’t used to him sounding coy, or anything even approaching it; his tone of voice made you smile. It also made you try to pull back to look at him, but right now he was holding you too tightly for that.

“You really didn’t dance with your wife? What sort of wedding doesn’t have any dancing?”

“A secret one,” he told you. You were holding his left hand in your right; it was made of him, and it felt incredible. His other hand was the one made of durasteel; it rested firmly on your back.

“I’m sorry— I didn’t know.” 

“You have no reason to apologize,” he assured you. “This is the first time I’ve ever been glad of the fact that I never danced with her.” 

“I don’t understand,” you said, and you squeezed his hand. You knew he could feel it here.

You also knew that he was smiling, because it came through in his voice as he squeezed back and explained, “I wanted to give you something I’ve never given anyone before. Dancing is just for us— you and I, and nobody else.”

“Thank you, Anakin,” was all you could think to say. You hadn’t known it was possible to feel so loved and so heartbroken simultaneously. Selfishly, you found yourself wishing that this didn’t have to end— you’d have gladly stayed here forever; let him hold onto you for the rest of time in this place he’d conjured with his mind so that the two of you could put your arms around each other.

“Think nothing of it,” he said. “I love you, and I’ve found myself in a position which offers me few opportunities to show you as much. _This is the least I can do.”_

Tears began to sting your eyes; suddenly, you were grateful not to be looking at one another’s faces. You breathed into the heavy, woven fabric of Anakin’s robe; tightened your grip on him as if you were afraid he might slip away. 

He must have known you’d started to cry, because he told you very gently not to as he kissed your head and stroked your hand with his thumb. 

Eventually, you ceased your rudimentary box-step; stopped swaying, and just stood still as you held onto one another in what was quickly and easily becoming your favourite place to be.

You had no idea where it really was; all you knew was that you never, ever wanted to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That chapter was incredibly short, but I had to take a break to cry while I was writing it anyway. I hadn’t expected that.


	36. Soup

You were at your workstation boiling water, but this time, it wasn’t for the purpose of either tea or bathing. Anakin was sitting up behind you; he’d been watching you work all afternoon following a very long nap in the morning. He had been sleeping a lot lately, and while you were glad to have him get some rest, you also missed his company during his extended periods of unconsciousness. It was nice that he was willing to sit up and be with you right now; even though it was good for him, it always felt like a gift to you.

 _How can you be certain that those will not poison you?_ he asked of the mushrooms you’d been adding to the broth you were concocting with the help of your tiny heating element.

“I recognize them,” you answered. It had been something akin to autumn when you’d first arrived on this little moon; it now seemed to be that same season once again, and this time, you wanted to try the mushrooms and onions you’d noticed growing throughout the forest. You were no stranger to harvesting wild fungi; you had encountered this particular variety many times before, and were more than happy to be having a meal that wasn’t comprised of freeze-dried ration packs. “I’m positive about the onions too, before you ask.”

_The onions do not concern me; their odour is unmistakable._

“If the smell is bothering you, I can move this outside,” you offered. You didn’t want to be away from him, but you also didn’t want to disturb him.

 _No,_ he said, _it isn’t bothering me._

“It’s going to be soup, you know. I can strain some of the broth into a cup if you’d like to try it.” Hot water flavoured with mushrooms and onions certainly wouldn’t hurt him, as long as you made sure the liquid was entirely free of anything he might actually have to digest. 

_I would prefer not,_ he told you, which was both predictable, and much more diplomatic than when he’d first turned down your tea.

“That’s okay. It won’t be ready for a while anyway.” You reduced the heat on the element, and— after sterilizing your hands— walked over to Anakin so you could perch next to him on the edge of his bed. “How do you feel?” you asked, as you came to be face-to-face with him.

 _Tired,_ he answered, _but I’d like to stay awake for a while anyhow._

You knew how hard his body was fighting against itself. Ever since he’d battled the infection in his old feeding port, his general health seemed to have been set upon a sluggish-yet-reliable downward trajectory. He was more prone to respiratory episodes and ulcers, and he suffered various types of inflammation with far greater frequency than when you’d first arrived. The largest of his veins seemed to actively oppose the constant intrusion of needles, medications, and liquid food; you’d begun having to give him a drug to thin his blood due to an ever-increasing risk of clots.

You tried not to think about Luke, or his ‘doctor’, or about operations and procedures. You mostly failed, of course... but, your attempts were at least valiant. The last thing you wanted to imagine was Anakin being cut open again in his current state; you also didn’t want to think about being sliced apart yourself by Luke, leaving his father without a sane person to care for him. You knew that if he only had his son’s permission, he would opt to stop receiving most of the treatment you were currently providing; you also knew that without it, he wouldn’t be long for the physical realm.

It was heart-wrenching to be in a position of loving him more than you could ever remember loving anyone, while simultaneously knowing that your time together was coming to an inevitable close. Whether that doctor killed him, whether his son killed you, or whether he simply developed sepsis or suffered a fatal blood clot, you were quite positive that you weren’t going to be with Anakin this way for very much longer. 

You hated that knowledge; hated having it, but hating it didn’t make it any less true.

“You don’t need to stay up for me,” you said. “If you’d like to try and rest some more, just let me know.” He’d already taken to exhausting himself while you were both sleeping for the purpose of making you happy; as nice as it was to have him sit with you while you were awake, you didn’t want him to suffer for having chosen to do so.

 _Someone needs to remain conscious to ensure that your mushrooms are what you think they are._ He sounded entirely serious; you smiled broadly, because you knew better. 

“Alright, then— I appreciate it.” You hoped he understood that you appreciated _every_ moment you spent with him. He had ceased being Darth Vader to you a long time ago: Things he’d done out of pain and fear somehow didn’t matter to you the way they ought to have; not when you looked into his eyes, or touched his face, or sat by his side as you were doing right now.

Anakin, for his part, seemed perturbed by your quiet contemplation. _I hope **you** understand that I am the same person today as I have always been._

“I only know you now,” you reminded him, “and who you are right now certainly isn’t who you used to be.” Even your vision of his village massacre; the one that had sent you out into the forest to vomit into a ditch, felt as if it were very far away— a relic; an irrelevance.

 _What did I already tell you about love and blindness?_ he scolded.

“Plenty,” you admitted, “but it hasn’t seemed to have been able to keep me from feeling the way I do.” 

With a slow shake of his head, he told you simply, _Foolishness._ You’d come to learn that particular criticism was one he levelled at you most often when he was fearful for your safety; the idea of you challenging Luke with regard to his care certainly seemed to make him feel that way.

“What did _I_ already tell _you?”_ you asked, before finally raising a hand to touch his face the way you both liked. When he didn’t answer, you reiterated to him, “My duty here is to you, and only you.” It wasn’t to Luke, and certainly not to any abstract notion of what constituted ‘justice’ for what Anakin had done in the past. 

_You know very well that I believe your intended course of action to be inadvisable._

“So why don’t you stop me? I know you could if you tried.” You didn’t take your hand away; in fact, you absentmindedly traced his jaw with your fingertips as you waited for him to answer.

Less aggressively (and less elaborately) than you might have expected, _I won’t make the same mistake twice._

“What do you mean by that?” 

With marked reluctance, _I’ve already killed my children’s mother, among countless others, in a series of futile attempts to bend fate to my will. You will do what you feel is right, and I am cognizant of the fact that I cannot stop you without harming you._ He tilted his head toward your hand, maybe without realizing he was doing so.

Even if Luke refused to acknowledge it, this had become less about whether or not Anakin would survive than it was about what his transition into death would be like: How painful or peaceful it might be; who would be by his side. He’d already spent so much of his life mired in suffering, whether his own or that which he’d imposed on others. Between the way you felt about him and the ethics imparted onto you by your upbringing, your plan to defend his comfort and dignity was the only option you saw as being truly viable.

Your success or failure in that endeavour depended almost entirely upon circumstances that had always been beyond your control.

 _Whatever it is I did to make you love me,_ he said, _I am deeply sorry for having done it._

It was your turn to shake your head at him. “It’s who you are that makes me love you; not what you do. You could never have prevented it.” He, of all people, should have understood that.

He must have, because he only sighed, and continued to lean into your affection. That prompted you to lift your free hand, and rest it on the other side of his head. You already knew you liked to hold him, partially thanks to his manipulation of your dreams. In his current condition, this was the best you could do. Anyhow, it had clearly been far too long since anyone else had placed their hands on him lovingly... which was a waste, you thought; in spite of everything, Anakin was always wonderful to touch.

You realized that you couldn’t possibly blame him for wanting to visit you in your sleep. You wished he didn’t have to; wished he wouldn’t, in fact, because to do so seemed to weaken him drastically... but, you could absolutely comprehend why he would feel the need.

 _When this is all over, I sincerely hope that you will come into possession of enough wisdom to simply forget about me._

“I won’t,” you promised contrarily. “Your son might be wrong about a lot of things, but he was at least right about you.” Your mind wandered back in time; recalled Luke’s assurances as to his father’s inherent goodness. You hadn’t believed him then, not at all... but, you certainly did now.

 _The more time I spend lingering this way, the more I am beginning to doubt his evaluation of my character,_ he confessed.

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

 _As with many other things, it seems as though it is unavoidable,_ he told you, which made you feel sad, but you smiled at him anyhow.

“I understand, Anakin,” you said. If the two of you had anything at all besides your unlikely attachment to one another, it was an unrivalled level of mutual understanding— it was always there, even when you didn’t agree. 

You didn’t notice just how closely you’d ended up leaning into him until he seemed to peer past your head; direct his attention toward your workstation. _You should turn down your broth,_ he advised, with some abruptness.

You pulled back and looked behind yourself to find that he was correct— the soup was supposed to have been simmering; however, you’d apparently left the element turned up a bit too high, and it was now rapidly boiling instead. You thanked him, and begrudgingly took your hands away from his face as you stood up to correct your error.

Your broth’s fate, after all, was not quite so inevitable as his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess that’s what constitutes ‘fluff’ in a story like this one. I’m sorry it ended up being a bit long; I wanted to both offer some insight into Anakin’s physical deterioration, and give these two a bit of peace together before Luke starts with his nonsense again.


	37. Last Dance

_There you are._

“Hm?” Anakin had fallen asleep hours ago; it was the middle of the night now. The lights overhead were dim, and the room was quiet, save for the ever-present drone of the equipment surrounding you.

 _What are you still doing awake?_ He paused; then, _I couldn’t find you._

“I can’t sleep,” you said. “I didn’t mean to worry you.” You sat up a bit taller in your chair; brought your face closer to his. He was laying on his back atop his bed, with his head tilted in your direction. 

_It’s alright— I’ve found you now._ You watched his eyes move as he looked you up and down. _What kept you awake?_

“Nothing,” you told him.

 _You’re lying._ Why had you even bothered to try? You’d lied to him about why you liked to touch him so much, too, when he had first asked about it. He’d detected your deception immediately.

“...You’re right. I am.” It didn’t make sense not to admit it.

He turned his head; stared at the ceiling. _My son sent you a transmission._

That was awfully fast. “Yes— yes, he did.” When he remained silent following your confession, you added, “He says he’s bringing someone with him the next time he visits.” You both knew precisely who he meant.

_I see. When will they arrive?_

“I don’t know. Luke only said ‘soon’.” That could mean anything, really— a day; a few weeks. You had no way of knowing.

Anakin went quiet, and so did you. You wished he’d look over at you again. 

Finally, _I hope you will put to good use the period of time between now and when he next presents himself._

“What does that mean?” 

_It means whatever you take it to mean._

You looked at the floor. What _did_ you take that to mean? You’d already prepared yourself to kill or disable Luke’s doctor if the situation called for it. You knew you couldn’t adequately assemble yourself for his retaliation; however, you’d long since accepted that. You were always doing everything you could to help Anakin feel better despite his condition, but you were certain that there was no healing him; not in the absence of a miracle. What else was there?

“I’ve spent the past year of my life sitting next to you,” you said after some consideration, “and it still doesn’t feel like enough.”

 _That feeling is mutual,_ he told you, and you were grateful to hear him say it.

You’d loved people before, but never quite like this. You thought about the persistence of Anakin’s silence on your arrival; about how he’d saved you from being trapped beneath a rock despite wanting nothing to do with you or your care. Luke had warned you about his temper, but Anakin had never become angry enough with you to harm you— not even once. You couldn’t begin to discern how or when you’d fallen for him; it had simply happened: Loving him felt as natural to you now as anything. It seemed unavoidable; inevitable.

You wished that everyone he’d hurt throughout the course of his life could see him now, and not for the purpose of revelling in his decimation. Rather, you wanted them to see that he was capable of so much more than hatred and indiscriminate violence. That, of course, was likely as impossible an endeavour as mending his broken body.

“Until Luke gets here,” you ventured, “I think it would be prudent for us to make the most of the time we have together.”

Finally— graciously— he did turn his head back toward you. _That is exactly what I was trying to do when I found you unable to sleep._ He wasn’t scolding; didn’t sound irritated, or perturbed.

“You know I don’t like for you to hurt yourself just so we can spend time together,” you told him. Anyhow, you were more than content to be with him just the way he was— He didn’t need to be able to stand on his feet, or put his arms around you, or do anything else for you to love him; all he needed to do was exist... and you knew you’d love him even after he stopped doing that, too.

 _We both know how little I have left to give,_ he said pointedly.

“Don’t you think you should be conserving your strength right now?”

He sighed audibly. _While I admire your intent, I strongly suspect that your plan will not come to fruition,_ he explained. _It is more likely than not that I will die at the hands of Luke’s ‘doctor’— and even if I do survive, I know for a fact that he will have sent you away by the time I regain consciousness following whatever procedure to which they subject me._

“You told me you wouldn’t let Luke send me away,” you reminded him.

_If you make an attempt on the life of the person he brings for the purpose of operating on me, then the matter will be out of my hands._

You knew he was right. You reached out; very gently allowed your fingers to trace a particularly prominent scar running along his face beneath his eye. “Tell me what you want, then,” you said. You smiled, because you liked to look at his face— you always had.

To your utter astonishment, he smiled back at you; answered, _I’d like to dance with you again._

“Dance with me?”

_Yes— dance with you. I believe I can even assist you with falling asleep, if that happens to be necessary._

You nodded; stroked his face as affectionately as you always did. “Alright, then,” you agreed. “Let’s dance.”

When you removed your hand from him, he turned his head back toward the ceiling. You reclined in your seat as best you could, and did the same.

Since it seemed impossible to give Anakin what you thought he truly deserved, you supposed a dance would have to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry if that was too mushy for you, but no matter what happens, I doubt that they have a lot of time left to be all gooey and cute.


	38. Listen

As you waited for Luke to make his next appearance, you found that the ability of you and Anakin to make the most of your time together the way you’d resolved was, unfortunately, diminishing. He continued to sleep a lot; even when you slept in tandem with him, you found your own periods of unconsciousness were becoming rather lonesome. It was more difficult to keep him warm, and his respiratory episodes were starting to get harder to bring under control, even with medication.

 _I want to sit up,_ he said one day to your surprise, not long after requesting your last dance together.

“Are you sure?” you asked. Typically you’d have readily agreed to have him sit upright for you; more recently, though, he seemed to suffer for it more than he benefited from it.

 _ **I want to sit up,**_ he repeated insistently, and so you knelt down to adjust his bed. 

“It’s okay for you to rest,” you assured him as you completed the task, and moved to plant yourself next to him on the edge of the gurney.

 _Listen to me carefully,_ he said, seeming to ignore your concern. When he was certain your attention was rapt, he continued, _I need you to ensure that I have time to speak with Luke in the absence of his ‘doctor’ when they arrive. I fear their shared overzealousness may prevent it._ He coughed, then; you could hear the sound of it emanating from deep within his chest. The respirator on his back wheezed along with him as he recovered. It was entirely expected, really, but you hated to hear it anyway.

“I can do that,” you said. You wanted an opportunity to evaluate Luke’s companion for yourself anyhow prior to letting him so much as lay a finger on Anakin. You had mused off-and-on that he may well surprise you; that, upon meeting his new patient, he might understand the cruelty inherent with what Luke wanted done to his father. If not, you were still prepared to incapacitate him— _but_ , if he turned out to possess more clarity of mind than the person who had recruited him, perhaps he could be an ally of sorts. You’d have to speak to him before you could even begin to know what to do with his presence. “You already know,” you added, “that I don’t plan on letting him hurt you.”

He gave you a hard stare; in spite of the way he’d been deteriorating, you were hardly surprised by his vehemence. _I recognize and respect your steadfastness; however, I would still much rather you refrain from risking your life in defence of my comfort._

“I won’t act rashly,” you promised, and you meant it. You weren’t about to maim someone (or incur Luke’s anger) for no good reason, but it was certainly something you were ready to do if your hand happened to end up being forced. You’d never harmed anyone before; not intentionally— but, for Anakin’s sake, you were quickly finding that there wasn’t much you wouldn’t do. Momentarily, anger overtook your thoughts: You wanted him to live more than anyone could possibly have understood, and yet you were willing to let go of him for his own sake. Why couldn’t Luke comprehend your objection— _Anakin’s_ objection— to his intended course of action?

 _I will try once more to enhance my son’s understanding of the situation,_ Anakin told you, _in the hope of sparing you from feeling as though you need to act at all._

Part of you felt terribly guilty for being at-odds with his offspring; you knew that there was almost nothing he could do about any of this now— not without thrusting violence upon someone he loved, anyway, and Anakin had made it very clear to you that he was finished doing that. 

“I hope he listens this time,” you said, although you doubted very much that he would.

_As do I. I’ve told you before: I wish he shared your perspective._

That reassured you. After a lifetime of killing and injuring people to get things he wanted, you admired the strength Anakin was displaying in doing just the opposite, even now that his circumstances were dire. He was showing immense restraint in spite of the fact that it had the potential to cause him incredible pain— if Darth Vader had been a monstrous tyrant, then it seemed Anakin Skywalker was the opposite: He didn’t want to hurt anyone, least of all for his own benefit. Even if you hadn’t fallen in love with him, wasn’t defending him from what you knew would amount to torture the right thing to do?

You weren’t quite sure what to say; it almost seemed as if everything there was for you to tell one another had already been said. You noticed that Anakin’s eyes had fallen shut while you’d been contemplating; you touched his face with one hand, and his shoulder with the other. He hardly ever felt warm to the touch anymore; not the way you were used to.

“Anakin,” you whispered, hoping he might not be asleep quite yet. You knew his body needed rest; specifically, you knew it was conserving energy to put toward the task of dying. Still, you missed him— he wasn’t even gone yet, and you already missed him terribly. 

He didn’t open his eyes, but he did respond. _I love you,_ he reminded you; then, _Thank you._

You felt like crying, but you smiled anyway. “Do you know that I love you, too?” you asked, hoping (admittedly quite selfishly) to garner another response.

 _I am aware,_ he confirmed, _and I am still deeply sorry for it._

You shook your head; nearly laughed. “Stop being sorry for that,” you chided; and, with as much care and benevolence as you could possibly muster, you leaned in more closely to him than you ever had before. After allowing your foreheads to touch and your noses to nestle in next to one another, you very gingerly pressed your lips onto his.

He still didn’t pull his eyes open... but you could detect him drawing in a breath, and as you ran your thumb along the side of his heavily-scarred face, you realized that he was shedding tears.

It made you feel as though it might be alright for you to cry, too... and so, finally, you did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to apologize for taking as long as I am to get to the next bit, but then I remembered how it took ~30 chapters to get them to the point of acknowledging their feelings for one another at all.
> 
> Anyway, they needed to kiss without someone barging in to wreck it, and a dream kiss would have been really cheap, as far as I’m concerned. (Besides, I don’t think he can do that trick anymore unfortunately.)
> 
> Poor Luke will be back soon; likely in the next chapter. I hope whatever his dad has to say to him makes an impact.


	39. Better Nature

You were sitting just outside the door to the ship you shared with Anakin when Luke broke through the atmosphere with his own spacecraft. The elder of the two Skywalkers was asleep inside after receiving that morning’s care, as you took comfort in the blank slate of your own mind. It was only thanks to the meditative techniques Anakin had been kind enough to teach you over the past several months that you were able to do so. They were, in fact, the only reason you happened to be able to detect the intrusion; the only reason you were able to go back inside in time to wake Anakin so that he could be made aware of it, too.

After whispering his name, you bent over his supine form and gently kissed his head. Since kissing him the first time, you’d made something of a habit of it— you kissed him when he woke up and when he went to sleep, when you finished caring for him in almost any capacity, and every single time you entered or exited the ship. Maybe you were making up for time you’d already spent without showing him enough affection; maybe it was for time you knew you were going to lose later on. You really didn’t know— all you knew was that you very much liked to do it. You were quite sure Anakin appreciated it, too, even if he didn’t have the wherewithal to communicate as much in quite the way he once had.

 _They’ve arrived, haven’t they?_

“Yes,” you said. “Should I go and meet them, or do you want me to stay here with you?”

_Go. Do you remember what I asked you to do?_

He’d opened his eyes by this point, and so you nodded your confirmation as you stood up straight. “I’m going to offer to go over your condition outside with the doctor. I already know he’ll be interested, and it should take me more than long enough to do that you’ll have the time you need to talk to your son.” Anakin was dying— there was certainly enough going wrong with him by this point that to explain all of it would take up at least a few minutes’ time. 

_Thank you,_ he said simply. Even though he spoke primarily with his mind, Anakin had taken to using as few words as possible to express what he felt he needed to say. Speaking more elaborately seemed to leech too much of his strength, now... and whatever it was he wanted to tell Luke, you had a feeling it wasn’t going to come without effort. It was easy to understand why he felt the need to conserve his energy.

“I’ll be back soon,” you said, as you collected both your lightsaber and datapad from the surface of your workstation. “Everything is going to be alright— I’ll make sure of it.”

As contrarily as ever, Anakin answered your reassurance, _In the event that one or both of us dies prior to seeing each other again, I would like you to recall my sincere apology for your having been thrust into this situation to begin with._

You shook your head, and then turned back toward him. “I’ve already told you not to be sorry— for that, or for anything else.” He didn’t respond, but you knew very well that he had heard you.

Of course you didn’t want to confront Luke’s doctor, or the young Jedi himself for that matter... but, if that was the consequence you were to suffer for having met and loved Anakin, then you would withstand it happily. How many others had ever come to know him the way you did? It was a privilege, you thought, to be granted even a cursory look past the facade of Darth Vader. You knew better than nearly anyone that the mask, the suit, the violence, and all of the vitriol he’d spewed throughout the course of his life had been nothing but a smokescreen: A guise constructed by the Emperor to hide his apprentice’s better nature from anyone who might have dared to try and uncover it. 

Who he really was couldn’t be hidden, though; not from you, and not from his son. You both had seen too much of him to make the mistake of believing that he was the way he’d been forced to be. If you and Luke had anything in common, it was that you loved him; loved him deeply, and for exactly who he was. You wished now more than ever that your shared affection could foster understanding instead of conflict— even without the planned encroachment of his body’s remaining integrity by computer equipment and surgical steel, you knew Anakin didn’t have a lot of time left. You wanted more than anything for him to spend that time in peace.

That was the thought with which you bolstered your own confidence as you took one more look at the man you’d come to love more than anyone else— who, by now, had fallen silent and closed his eyes; presumably preparing himself for Luke’s arrival, and their subsequent talk. You had no idea as to what he planned on telling his son; however, you hoped it was something that had the potential to put a stop to all of this without you having to either impose or endure any type of injury.

You’d tended to dying patients before; were intimately familiar with the process of leaving the physical realm— Anakin had days; perhaps only hours, before living inside of his body would cease being tenable for him. Again, it was imperative (to you, anyway) that he not suffer any more than was necessary as he made the transition into death. 

Stepping into the airlock, you closed your eyes and breathed deeply while you waited for the door leading into the forest to open for you. Whatever you found waiting for you there, you were at least secure in the knowledge that you were doing the right thing. Between Anakin’s reassurances, your brief-but-meaningful experience with the person who’d once wielded what was now your weapon, and the ethics you’d spent the better part of your life upholding, you knew you didn’t have any other choice but to do exactly as you were doing right now. You didn’t know whether or not you believed in destiny; not really— but, if it _was_ real, then perhaps being here in Anakin’s defence was part of yours.

Very suddenly— just before the doors began to slide open— you registered with crystal-clarity Anakin’s voice emerging from inside your head. With an irreverence you’d only ever known to be rivalled by your own, he informed you before your departure, _I apologize for destroying your tea-leaf solar system. You should know that I find your creativity most endearing, in spite of my poor reaction to the manner in which you expressed it that day._

For a moment you smiled broadly; however, you didn’t say anything back, because you knew you didn’t have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like an ass for ending the chapter there (and for inadvertently lying about when Luke would show up), and so I’m about to go ahead and upload the next one, too. If you have time for a bit more, click on over to it; it should be there by the time you’ve read this note.
> 
> (Turns out I like to wax poetic about Anakin Skywalker— who’d ever have thought, eh?)


	40. Data

“What’s my father’s condition?”

Luke didn’t greet you with a ‘hello’, and not with a smile, either. He was already approaching the clearing which housed the ship as you exited it, and the expression on his face as he did was one of grave seriousness. Graciously, he retracted his blade prior to stepping near to you. Following him was a man— tall, human if you had to guess, and clad in a type of outfit you’d only ever seen on medical professionals recruited by the Empire. You hadn’t known that a person could appear so aloof and yet so incredibly stern at the same time. You also still didn’t know what to make of him.

“Acute,” you said in response to Luke’s inquiry. “He’s deteriorating, and quickly— but, he says he’d like to speak with you alone before you introduce him to his new caregiver.”

Luke eyed you somewhat suspiciously. “Talk to me?” he asked. “What about?”

“I have no idea— whatever it is, it’s only for you. I would strongly suggest you go inside and find out.” You looked at the doctor next; tried to read him, but couldn’t. You added in his direction as you held up your datapad, “I can get you up-to-date on the state of Luke’s father’s health while we wait for them to finish speaking. His condition is unique; you’ll want to know the details before you work on him.” Of course, you had almost no intention of letting him do much of anything at all... but, he certainly didn’t need to know that yet.

“...That sounds alright,” answered Luke for the both of them, after a pause. Then, to the doctor, “I’ll come out to get you when we’re finished.” He didn’t say anything more to you on his way into the ship, but he did look at you disdainfully as he passed by; almost as if you were something he’d found stuck to his boot. That was fine; you hadn’t expected him to react to you any other way, really. You wondered how much about your own interactions with Anakin he’d shared.

“Don’t be too long,” urged the doctor, as the doors closed and Luke disappeared from view. At that point, the two of you moved to face one another. You stepped up closely, and extended your hand; introduced yourself. He grasped your fingers loosely in his own before taking his hand back with haste, and motioning toward your datapad. (Your lightsaber hung freely at your side, but he didn’t seem to register its presence— perhaps he didn’t think it relevant.) “May I see?” he asked, not taking his eyes off of your little computer.

“Certainly,” you said with utmost courtesy, as you handed it to him without hesitation. “Every two weeks, I compile all of the data collected daily by the remnants of his suit. The more recent files should give you a good idea as to his current status.” You wondered just what he’d think of Anakin’s ‘current status’. Any responsible clinician would have known that to operate on him at this point would be a doomed farce.

He seemed to have barely heard you; he was already scrolling furtively through what you had given him. “Fascinating,” he said, more to himself than you. Eventually he looked up from the text; smiled widely as he said of Anakin, “I’ve never encountered such an intriguing specimen. How fortunate that you’ve had the opportunity to observe him for as long as you have.”

‘Specimen’? At least he was transparent. “Yes,” you told him, very deliberately quelling the anger already rising up from inside of you. “I feel incredibly fortunate— I’ve never encountered anyone quite like him.”

“I would imagine not,” said the ‘doctor’, turning his gaze back down toward the datapad. “I presume you were as excited as I am right now when Vader’s son tracked you down.” He chuckled, “I’ve wanted to get beneath that blinking panel of his for _years_ — but, I was never allowed the privilege. Not until now, anyway. Just how reliant _was_ that fearful monstrosity on his suit?”

Never mind who this man was; who did he think _you_ were? Whoever it was, it was no one decent— Luke mustn’t have told him very much about the relationship you’d built with his father. You didn’t betray the way you felt about how he was speaking; it wouldn’t have benefitted you... or Anakin, either.

“Almost entirely,” you answered. “There’s very little his body can do for itself. I hope you understand that, physically, he is coming to a point of not being able to withstand the interventions maintaining his life.” 

“All the more reason to hurry,” he told you, glancing impatiently at the door to the airlock. “I certainly hope they’re finished speaking soon. He’ll be much less interesting to dissect if he’s already dead when I get to him.”

As when you’d been meditating outside the ship earlier that day, Anakin’s lessons were serving you well right now. Without a hint of the clamouring rage threatening to burst forth from you, you asked as innocently as you possibly could, “Aren’t you here to preserve his life? Luke told me that you might even be able to restore function to his limbs.”

The doctor smiled cordially. “The boy is incredibly naive. Surely you noticed that about him, too?” He shook his head. “If you’re really the one who’s been compiling this data,” he said as he held up the pad, “then you must be aware of the fact that Darth Vader could never survive the type of operation he would require to regain his movement.” He looked to be contemplating for a moment; then, “I’d have liked to have obtained access to him prior to this type of deterioration taking place— but, I suppose I’m used to having to make do with what I’m given.” He handed you back your datapad, then, and shot the door another look.

You wanted to ignite your blade and slice him in half right there, but you didn’t; you felt the need to wait for Luke. If his father could change his mind about this fiasco, then perhaps swinging your weapon about would prove unnecessary— regardless of how sick or cruel the person he’d brought to intrude upon his father’s death happened to be.

Calmly, “What do you plan on doing with him, then— since you seem to understand that healing him is an impossibility?”

He grinned. “I’m going to study him— I watched him from afar for years; in fact, I must have heard upwards of twenty different stories about what happened to render him more machine than man. He is an enigma, and I want to peel as many layers off of him as I can before his foolish offspring puts a stop to it.” He seemed downright gleeful by this point; you were disgusted by his excitement. Had Luke been so wrapped up in his own feelings as to be unable to detect this man’s deception? You were glad, at least, to have been able to inspire honesty in him, however much you loathed his true intent.

You started, “I presume you haven’t told his son—”

“Haven’t told me what?” asked Luke, as he emerged from the ship as if on cue.

“Haven’t told you how very enthusiastic I am at the prospect of having an opportunity to make your father well again,” said the doctor, without skipping a beat. “May I see him, now? If you’re finished your chat with him, that is.” You hated to see him falsifying his respect for Luke as much as you hated what he thought of Anakin. Luke might have been misguided in the way he expressed his love for his parent, but he was also being manipulated, you now realized. The strength of his own emotions was being used against him in a way that was unconscionable. 

“...Yes,” said Luke. He didn’t seem nearly as certain of himself as he had when he’d first approached you and the ship. “But... I can tell he’s not feeling well today. You _will_ be gentle while you check him over, won’t you?”

“I’ll treat him just as if he were my own father,” promised the doctor, and it was all you could do not to grimace at the obviousness of his lie. “Let’s get to it, though— the sooner I examine him, the sooner I can begin the work of fixing him for you.”

Luke nodded, although he looked somewhat reluctant. What _had_ Anakin said to him in there?

It didn’t matter, at least not right now— as the Jedi turned to enter the ship followed briskly by his duplicitous guest, you rested a hand discreetly upon the hilt of your blade, and moved to accompany them. Despite being both incredibly anxious and indescribably angry, you wanted to honour Anakin’s demand; wanted to refrain from acting violently unless you absolutely had to.

The fresh doubt in Luke’s voice gave you a modicum of hope that all of this might wind up being settled without anybody losing their head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a dick.


	41. Go Quickly

It was all you could do to refrain from attempting to take control of the situation as the ‘doctor’ performed his initial examination of Anakin. Luke stood next to you silently at the edge of the room, while his contemptible companion moved from monitor to monitor. He seemed to be studying the information provided by the chest box of the man he presumed to be his new test subject. He hadn’t touched Anakin; not yet, but he had dared to remark on his appearance. That alone had nearly been enough to make you drop your pretence of agreeability altogether. 

Refraining from kissing him or otherwise greeting him with your touch when you re-entered the ship was difficult enough; graciously, he had either fallen asleep or retreated into his own mind after speaking with his son. You couldn’t tell precisely which, but you did happen to know that he had precious little vigour left to spare on deep meditation. His vital signs were weak, but steady; his breaths came fewer and farther between than they ought to have, and his heart-rate was abnormally slow. You kept your eyes trained on him, ready to intervene at the first sign of his having been caused even the slightest amount of unnecessary discomfort.

Suddenly, Luke’s doctor ceased his investigation in favour of turning toward you and asking somewhat unexpectedly, “What is your opinion as to his ability to withstand transport?”

“...My opinion is that it doesn’t exist,” you said. You tried very hard not to betray your feelings as you offered your judgement.

“Doesn’t exist?”

“Takeoff by itself might well kill him, let alone landing or docking.” You weren’t lying about that. You noticed from the corner of your eye that Luke was giving you a curious look in spite of his own emotional state— maybe he hadn’t expected you to exert quite so much control over yourself; maybe he was confused by your apparent complicity in the face of what you’d so vehemently opposed the last time you’d encountered one another.

“I see. I think you may be correct,” the doctor said, turning back toward Anakin for the purpose of bending over his form. He looked to Luke next; asked with a strong note of false regard, “May I operate on him here, then?”

Luke almost froze. “I— well— _will it help him?”_ You fixed your gaze on Anakin’s son; he looked terrified and devastated all at once.

“Of course it will! I know precisely what to do,” lied the doctor.

“I don’t have the tools for that here,” you interjected, as calmly as you could.

“No matter— I brought plenty of my own supplies.” Once again addressing Luke, “They’re in the ship; the one we arrived in. Shall I retrieve them?” 

He hesitated; you tried not to look pleading as you anticipated his answer. Surely he had to understand that this had gone too far.

“...Yes,” he finally answered. “Yes, go and get them.” He’d hardly taken his eyes off of his father since re-entering the room. You had to stop yourself from physically balking at his response. How could he still not understand?

“Wonderful— I’ll go quickly, and return soon with everything I need.”

Luke only nodded, and you didn’t do anything at all— not until the doctor had taken one last glance at his object of interest, anyway, and started to make his way out the hatch. Once he’d been sealed inside the airlock, your feet seemed to come unglued from their position on the floor; you walked swiftly over to Anakin. 

“I’m sorry,” you told him, and you bent down to kiss his head. Luke already knew how you felt about him; it didn’t matter to you if he saw. It was at that point you noticed his waste receptacle: It wasn’t full, but it was about half-way there— full enough, anyway, that it wouldn’t seem odd for you to want to change it out for a new one.

Luke was quiet while you did just that, until it came time to take the used-up equipment out to the ditch. “Where are you going?” he asked, as though it weren’t obvious.

“Taking this outside,” you said, and you held up the waste in your hand before advising, “I think you should wait with your father until the doctor comes back.” A wet-sounding cough emerged weakly from Anakin as you finished speaking; that prompted you to add, “Turn his head to the side, and wipe his mouth with a clean cloth.” He couldn’t cough with enough force to bring anything up anymore, really, but that didn’t stop phlegm or other secretions from building up in his airway. 

“Oh— okay,” Luke agreed, and he paced over to the side of the bed. You heard him begin to say something reassuring to Anakin as you stepped into the airlock yourself. Once the door had shut behind you, you sighed heavily: He certainly did love his father; that much was clearer than ever. You only wished he could find it in himself to express it some other way. There seemed to be no point in attempting to expose his doctor’s true motivation; he wouldn’t have believed you... and, even if he did, you had a feeling that he would somehow manage to deny it.

Once you had dropped the trash into the ditch, you stood still and looked around at the trees. Luke’s typical landing place was not far from where you were; you could still hear the sounds of the doctor making his way there through the leaves and cut-up brush littering the makeshift path. Whatever Anakin had told Luke during their brief time alone, it had obviously affected him... but, not enough for him to put an end to the charade of ‘healing’ his father.

You steeled yourself, because you hadn’t wanted to do this; in fact, you’d already tested the limits of your own tolerance attempting to avoid it. It couldn’t be avoided, though; not any longer, and if that man came back to Anakin with his tools, you knew you’d wind up witnessing someone you loved dying in pain with a gaping, bleeding hole in his chest.

He deserved better than that; _everyone_ deserved better than that.

With a combination of reluctance and determination, you walked away from the ditch and toward the sounds indicating the doctor’s movement through the forest. Your feigned willingness to go along with all of this must have paid off, because Luke hadn’t stopped you from leaving; didn’t seem to register that his guest’s safety had just come under threat. You weren’t quite sure what you were going to do when you found him, but you did know that letting him return to Anakin was not an option.

Whatever Luke decided to do about your current undertaking after the fact, it couldn’t be nearly as fearsome or corrupt as what would befall his only remaining parent if you didn’t take some kind of initiative.

“I’m sorry, Anakin,” you whispered once again, because whether he could hear you or not, you knew that this was the last thing he’d wanted you to do. 

You also knew that he would have more than understood why you felt you didn’t have a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss when they got to just sit around and talk and look at each other and play with tea. Time is to be cherished, I guess.
> 
> (Just one chapter today, but you won’t be waiting too long for the next one.)


	42. Enough

You were standing at the border of the clearing in which Luke had landed his ship. The doctor had just exited the spacecraft; he was now toting a large case. The sun was bright without the treetops to filter it, and those birds you’d always liked to listen to were as loud and cheerful as ever as you waited calmly and patiently for your target to notice your presence.

“Did you find your things?” you asked, when it finally became apparent that he’d seen you.

“What? Yes. Did the boy send you to assist me?”

“No,” you told him. “He didn’t.”

“Then what are you—”

“Did you realize who you were speaking to when you told me you wanted to study Luke’s father?” you interrupted sedately.

He looked confused, but he sounded annoyed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “Now, I would surmise that you are as curious as I am about the way he functions— so, let’s get back to it before he—”

“No,” you said.

“Excuse me?”

“No— let’s not go back.”

The doctor appeared to be wasting little time in becoming fed-up. “I don’t have time to play games with you,” he scolded. “If he dies before I can cut into him, it will be infinitely more difficult to—”

“You won’t be cutting into him today,” you told him, “or any other day, for that matter.” Your hand was back to your lightsaber; by this point you were practically itching to ignite it. Such an intense desire to do harm to someone was unfamiliar to you; typically, you’d have tried to do just the opposite... but, there was no fixing this person. In many ways, you thought, he was sicker than the man he’d lied about wanting to heal: Unlike Anakin, there was no redeeming him. That much was clear to you.

He must still not have registered the threat you posed, because he scoffed, “You don’t want me operating on _Darth Vader?_ Aren’t you interested in how they put him together; about how he works?”

“His name is Anakin,” you corrected him, “and I already know how he works.” 

How, precisely, did Anakin ‘work’? The details of his suit and his limbs and his respirator were irrelevant to you; you understood as well as anyone who’d ever actually known him that he was fuelled primarily by the sheer strength of his own emotions. It was something he’d passed on to his son; something that, even on his deathbed, he was unable to escape. Anakin’s strongest feeling, you knew, was love; everything truly significant he’d ever done in his life— from hurting his wife, to losing his best friend, to rescuing his son from the Emperor and subsequently remaining alive to make him happy (not to mention falling for you against all odds)— had been motivated by love. His capacity for it was endless; it was really no wonder he’d suffered so much throughout the course of his life. He could never have escaped it.

You weren’t going to let him suffer for who he loved or how he loved them anymore. Not for a second.

Incredulously, the doctor answered your assertion, “Do you, now? Well, I don’t, and I am eagerly anticipating finding out. So if you’ll just step out of my way—”

“No,” you reiterated simply. “I won’t.”

“You are starting to irritate—”

“Do you pray?” you asked, ignoring his growing frustration.

“Do I _what?”_

“Pray,” you repeated for him. “Do you pray— to a god, or gods?”

“Of course I don’t. What a ridiculous—”

“Be quiet, then,” you ordered, and you finally unclipped your lightsaber from your hip. 

“What is that?”

“It’s a weapon,” you told him. “Haven’t you seen Luke’s?”

“I certainly have, but I assumed that yours was a replica, or some other sort of tool. Those have been illegal for—”

“A very long time,” you finished for him. “I know.”

He finally seemed to have begun to understand that he was in danger. The colour went out of his face; with a trembling hand, he set his case on the ground. “I don’t know what it is you’re trying to do,” he ventured, “but whatever opposition you have to my intentions, I’m sure we can—”

“I love him,” you said. “I love him very much. Did you know that?”

“You love who? The boy?”

“No. Not him.” For a doctor, he certainly was stupid.

“You love _Vader?”_

 _”Anakin,”_ you corrected him again. “I love _Anakin._ I’m not going to let you hurt him— or his son, or anyone else.” Your calm was leaving you by this point, and it was going quickly. You stepped up very near to him; held your blade’s hilt mere inches away from his breastbone. “How can you even call yourself a doctor? You’re a facsimile of a scientist, if that.” Scientists at least operated within an ethical framework; this man didn’t seem to have one of those— not at all.

He appeared to be offended by the notion of you loving the former Sith Lord, not to mention your evaluation of his professional aptitude. His fear turned to anger as he began to opine, “The man laying in that bed is a monster— a beast; a medical side-show. Have you not looked at his face? He is as disgusting on the outside as I’ve always known him to be on the inside. He—”

“Enough,” you said, and you clenched your teeth as you finally pressed the button on the side of your weapon's handle. Immediately, that bright-blue shaft of light you’d become so accustomed to wielding shot out of it; impaled Luke’s doctor directly through the centre of his chest.

His mouth opened, his body tensed, and his eyes looked as though they might be about to burst out of his head. He gasped; sounded as if he were being strangled, actually, before going silent altogether. As in your vision of the village slaughter, there was no blood to speak of; however, it was very clear you’d inflicted a mortal wound. As you retracted the blade, you watched him crumple— you’d never seen a person die quite like that; typically, your patients died in their beds.

But, of course, this man had never been your patient.

“There,” you said, even though he couldn’t hear you. “Now you can’t hurt anyone anymore.” How many others had suffered at his hands? How many others might have suffered in the future if you hadn’t put an end to him yourself? You’d never know; frankly, it didn’t matter. Not now.

By the time the so-called doctor’s body had ceased its twitching and you had become absolutely certain of his having died, you heard a noise behind you.

“What’s going on out here?” called Luke, as he made his own way along the path down which you’d followed his guest. “You’re both taking too long; my father is—”

“Luke,” you started, turning around.

“...What are you doing?” he asked curiously, perhaps not entirely certain as to what he was approaching. 

As he came closer— close enough to see behind you— you began to explain, “You need to understand that your ‘doctor’ was—”

_”What have you done?!”_

You froze. Your lightsaber was still in your hand; anyway, the doctor’s wound was unmistakable. There was no excusing yourself; no deflecting the blame— not, of course, that you’d have elected to deny it. In your eyes, his death had been entirely justified.

“I asked you a question— _what have you done?!”_

You’d composed yourself adequately enough by then to start to answer, “I've spared your father the pain of being—”

“You’ve killed the only person who could have helped him!”

“He was never going to help him; he—”

Luke was having none of your explanation; before you could finish your sentence, he had already taken a swing at you with his fist. By the time you were on the ground bleeding out your nose, his hand had shot to his side and retrieved his blade from his belt. Within seconds, it had been activated; that effervescent green shaft of light which had once awed you was very suddenly flying down toward your head with unimaginable speed.

You supposed you were quite fortunate to still be holding your own weapon securely in your hand. For the second time that day, you ignited it, and readied yourself as best you could to block the onslaught Luke was clearly prepared to thrust in your direction in return for killing the person he’d mistakenly believed to be his father’s saviour.

If you survived his attack, you might just have an opportunity to explain to him how very wrong he had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof.


	43. No Escape

All you could smell or taste was copper, and all you could see were hot, bright streaks of cerulean and emerald as Luke backed you into the forest with an angry, haphazard series of slashes and jabs. You’d somehow managed to rise to your feet after being punched and ambushed, but to breathe through your nose only earned you mouthfuls of blood, and trying to strike back seemed impossible given how very quickly Luke was swinging his own blade. You didn’t want to hurt him, but his desire to hurt you was unquestionable— not, of course, that he was giving you any time at all to fight back.

You were suddenly very grateful for every single rock Anakin had ever thrown at you; absent that experience, you knew you’d already be as dead as the doctor, with a smoking pit in the centre of your own chest to match his.

 _”Luke,”_ you pleaded breathlessly from behind your weapon, _”your father wouldn’t want this; you have to stop!”_

“He’s going to die,” he countered without ceasing his assault, “and it’s _your fault!”_

“He was always going to die!” you yelled, ducking and scrambling out of the way of a particularly quick swipe. You glanced back just in time to register a young tree into which you’d almost been pushed fall to the ground with an unceremonious crash. 

“I could have saved him— _I was going to save him!”_

“He can’t be saved that way, and if you don’t— _augh!”_ You were cut off mid-sentence by the very tip of Luke’s blade grazing your upper arm; if he’d been any more accurate, you’d have lost the limb altogether. You stumbled, shirtsleeve torn and skin blistering; stepped back into the forest as quickly as you could without turning around: Anakin had always stressed that you should never turn your back toward the source of an oncoming attack.

“You can’t win this fight,” said Luke determinedly as he followed, still swinging wildly at you. You didn’t dare lower your sabre; this was nothing like your last scuffle with him— you’d feared for your life when he’d thrust himself angrily at you before, certainly, but this all-out blitz was something else entirely.

“I don’t want to win,” you pleaded. “I just want you to stop!”

He didn’t stop, though; didn’t even slow down as the two of you continued on through the trees. He would swing, and you would either block or dodge, all while running frantically backwards in an attempt to evade him. Nothing you’d been taught about how to retaliate against such an advance was useful to you right now, because you simply didn’t have the time to move any way at all except defensively. Luke was absolutely relentless; you’d nearly forgotten that he had, in fact, bested his own father in a duel much like this one. 

Not only couldn’t you escape, but you also knew he was right: You couldn’t win; not here, not like this.

Something very hard pressed up against your back, stopping you in your tracks— it was a rock; a rock that happened to be much bigger than you. With no time to go around it, no way to concentrate intently enough to move it, and an inability to go through it without turning around, you were stuck. There was nothing you could do except to brace your own blade against your opponent’s and hope that you could endure the effort long enough to diffuse his rage.

After spitting a thick glob of your own blood out onto the ground, you tried your best to look through your crossed blades and into Luke’s eyes. He was pushing; pushing _so hard_ — and you knew that if he were to draw back more quickly than you could react, you might just end up being cut in half not unlike the way his own father had once been. To think of Anakin like that caused you to wonder if he was conscious; wonder if he could hear what was going on, or if he was too deep inside himself to register it. Part of you hoped he was unaware; you knew he’d hate to see this— it was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid when he had advised you not to act in his defence.

“Luke,” you tried again desperately, “you don’t want to do this— _you don’t have time to do this.”_ His father was laying by himself dying, only metres away. What did he hope to accomplish by killing you now? Even if that doctor hadn’t been a malicious psychopath, hurting you wasn’t going to fix this.

“I have all the time in the world now,” he growled as he continued to inch your clashing, sparking weapons closer and closer to your face. 

“Don’t you want to be with him? He’s dying— _someone needs to be with him!”_

“Someone needs to _avenge_ him— I’ll never know how many years you might have cost us!” 

You needed to make him understand before you ended up beheaded or worse; how were you supposed to do that? Both you and Anakin had been trying to reason with him for months on end, and he had been so mired in the way he felt about his father that he couldn’t see what was right in front of him. He’d wasted time he could have spent with Anakin running after impossibilities; now he was prepared to kill somebody who was only trying to help because the way he expressed his love was toxic.

“Do you want to end up the way _he_ did? The way he was before you saved him?” This seemed to make Luke begin to hesitate; you used the opportunity to push back a bit harder against his blade as you continued, “He fought his closest ally while the person he loved most in the world lay dying without him— _and look at the way he suffered for it!”_ Although Luke was still urging himself forward, his hands had started to tremble.

The two of you were, perhaps, the only living people in the entire galaxy who loved Anakin; who trusted him— and here you were trying to slice one another apart.

When Luke stayed silent, you went on through clenched teeth, “He needs you to be strong for him; strong enough to say goodbye! Do you want him to die heartbroken, the same way your mother did? _He doesn’t want you to be like him! He wants you to be better!”_ That’s what every parent wanted for their child, wasn’t it? If Anakin died knowing that Luke had thoughtlessly repeated his own mistakes, then you knew he would leave his body wracked by devastation... and again, he deserved so much better than that.

Miraculously (or maybe not), you had gained the upper hand by now; had managed to separate yourself from the rock, and start to force Luke backwards. You’d have tried to kick him if you’d really wanted to hurt him; however, you didn’t. He was a good person; unlike his ‘doctor’, his intentions had always been pure. Despite its having been corrupted, you deeply admired his love for his father— and that was because you loved his father, too.

“I just wanted time with him!” Luke choked out through a fresh stream of angry tears. _”I just wanted to know him!”_

“Then go to him!” you shouted, as you put every remaining ounce of your strength behind one last, brutal thrust against his blade. 

He finally fell to the ground; stared up at you with more pain in his eyes than you thought a person could harbour at once. He looked like someone who had no one; someone who didn’t know what to do or where to go. It was easy to see because you recognized it; recognized it from having experienced it. You were as shattered and frightened as he was at the prospect of losing Anakin: Never before in your life had you felt such love or purpose. He was a gift like none other; letting him go was always going to hurt.

That didn’t mean you could get away from it; outrun it. How could a person outrun their own grief?

 _”Go to him,”_ you repeated, as you retracted your weapon and strained to catch your breath. 

“He’ll die,” Luke sobbed, withdrawing his own blade and tossing it dejectedly to the ground beside himself.

“Of course he will— but he won’t die alone if we go back now,” you assured him, with as much kindness as you could intone. Without a hint of trepidation, you extended your hand (the one attached to your uninjured arm) out toward him. If he only got up and went back to the ship with you, then you could more than forgive him for whatever it was he’d almost done in his anguish... to you, and to his father.

“He hates to be alone,” Luke acknowledged, allowing you to pull him to his feet. _”He hates to be alone.”_

He was right— Anakin Skywalker detested being by himself in a way Darth Vader would never have even begun to allow himself to be aware of, let alone admit. It occurred to you that his secret objection to solitude was more likely than not the primary reason you’d been recruited to care for him in the first place: Luke simply hadn’t wanted his father to be lonesome while he was off chasing his false hope. It was tragic, but it had worked— Anakin had never been lonely; not since your arrival.

You let go after Luke had caught his balance, and through the silence of the woods, the two of you started to make your way back toward the place you should have been all along. When you concentrated, you could feel Anakin; palpably detect the essence of his being. Even though you couldn’t seem to communicate with him from outside, you knew for certain that he was still alive— alive, and in dire need of the presence of those he loved.

Right now, you didn’t care about anything at all besides your ability to give him precisely that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent an inordinate amount of time editing this chapter last night, only for my iPad to entirely lose it on me. I woke up five hours later to an unedited piece-of-shit draft, and fuck if I could remember all of the changes I’d made to it at 2am by the time I finally got to it today. Most of it is back the way I want it now, but you’d better believe I’m still pissy enough to complain.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for sticking around through what feels like a lot of chapters with basically no Anakin in my Anakin x Reader story. 
> 
> Back to our sweet perfect man next time. :( At least Luke and Reader will have each other to lean on while they say farewell. I’d love to be Luke Skywalker’s bff while dating his dad, honestly. *sigh* 😔


	44. Normal

Anakin was mostly alert by the time you approached his bed. You and Luke had both cleaned your hands on your way into the ship, but not much else; at least, not immediately. Anakin was so ill by now that measures to fight bacteria were more formality than necessity: After all, he hardly had enough time left to develop an infection. He pulled his eyes open to look at you; when he did, the first thing he asked was what happened to your face. You’d nearly forgotten about your nose; it had stopped bleeding outside... but, as soon as you were made aware of it, you realized you could feel everything around it beginning to swell. You didn’t know how badly-bruised you were, but you were fairly sure you didn’t look very much like yourself.

“It was nothing,” you said anyway, glad that he hadn’t seemed to notice the burn on your arm from his son’s lightsaber.

 _You killed him, didn’t you?_ he asked of the doctor. Even his mind’s voice sounded weak. _I told you not to—_

“...It’s alright, Father,” interrupted Luke from the edge of the room, albeit with uncharacteristic meekness. He seemed almost to be frozen in place. “He... wasn’t who I thought he was.”

You’d briefed Luke on the doctor’s view of his father as gently and succinctly as you could on your way back to his bedside. He hadn’t said much about it in return, but you knew that he knew you were correct.

 _No,_ confirmed Anakin. _I suppose he wasn’t, was he?_ Of course he knew; he’d known all along.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” you interjected, leaning down to speak more closely with him. You also needed to wipe away from his mouth what his lungs had ejected while you’d been gone: There was blood in his phlegm by now; tiny, black-looking clots and bright pink streaks swirled together and stained the cloth you’d elected to use. “Your son and I are both here, and neither of us is going to leave. How do you feel?”

 _Better than I did before,_ he answered somewhat juxtapositionally, and then asked for Luke to come closer.

“I’m sorry, Father,” he said quietly, as he stepped tentatively toward the bed and stood across from you on the other side of it. “I just wanted—”

 _You know very well that I understand what you wanted. Do **you** understand what I was trying to communicate to you, now?_ He tilted his head as best he could to look up at his son. When Luke nodded, Anakin began to say in agreeance with you, _Then it truly doesn’t matter anymore. You realize—”_ he cut himself off by coughing; more blood and more phlegm erupted from the back of his throat, and as you wiped it up, you could feel fresh fear start to emanate from Luke.

“It’s normal,” you assured the younger of the two. 

“I just don’t want him to be in pain. I— he—”

“He’s in less pain now than he’d have been if that man had cut him open,” you interrupted pointedly, and Luke went silent. Anakin’s eyes had closed again by now, and although he was most certainly still awake, he was also clearly in no condition to be making conversation. “I’m going to go clean myself up,” you told Luke next, both because you desperately needed it, and because you wanted him to have a bit more time alone with his parent. “I’ll be back soon, and then we can switch places. Until then, will you sit with your father?”

“Yes— yes, I will,” he said. He sounded painfully genuine, but also extremely nervous. 

“Just remember what I said about helping him when he coughs. There are clean cloths in the cupboard above the desk.” 

Luke sat down in your chair at that point; reached out with a nervous hand, and placed it upon Anakin’s shoulder. It must have reassured the elder of the two, because he seemed to relax at the sensation of his son’s touch. “I’m sorry,” Luke said softly. “I’m sorry for _everything.”_

If he could have, you knew Anakin would have told him not to worry; that it was okay, because now it really _was_ okay. Again, though, it seemed as if his father had run out of energy to put toward communication, at least for the moment: He lay silent and still; as had very often been the case over the past several days, the only sound in the room came from the machines surrounding the three of you. 

That was alright; you knew it was, and you were certain Anakin did, too. Now that Luke had been coaxed into a corresponding place of understanding and acceptance, his father finally had a chance at dying the type of death he deserved— the type of death you thought _everyone_ deserved.

An incredibly selfish part of you was glad of the fact that it had been delayed in the first place; happy that Luke hadn’t let his father die during the battle from which he’d dragged him. If he’d done as he’d been asked back then, you’d never have come to know Anakin; wouldn’t have had a chance at falling headfirst into a type of love you knew you’d never be able to duplicate. 

In his own strange way (and entirely without knowing what he’d been doing), Luke had given both you and his father the most unexpected of gifts.

It was imperative, you thought, to try to find a way to thank him for it when all was said and done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next part is already up, because it’s only fair to those of you who’ve been reading this long/been this patient with me. I mean, I started this thing in bloody _May_. If it were any other fic, I’d likely just jam the entire ending (or most of it anyway) into a single chapter; however, I’ve gone and formatted this story differently from any other one I’ve ever written, and I’m not about to start adding scene breaks to it now.


	45. Don’t Forget

_Thank you,_ said Anakin, _for doing what you did for me._

You jumped; you hadn’t expected to hear his voice, least of all here. “What are you doing?” you asked him. “You don’t have the strength to be—”

 _I was beginning to believe nothing could make him understand,_ he interrupted, disregarding your concern. That was very typical of him; it used to annoy you, but right now it made you smile.

You were in the shower presently, and normally you’d have tried to save some of the ship’s energy by running the water cool. Today, though, you’d forgone that consideration; decided to make it as hot as you could possibly stand it: Soon there would be no need to conserve your resources here, because in short time you would be leaving. You were sure if it, regardless of how it made you feel— and so it made sense to you that you should at least have a decent shower before embarking on the journey of processing your own grief. You stood amongst the steam you’d generated with the sheer heat of your water; tilted your head back as you let it wash over you. 

“It was all you,” you told Anakin, because if it hadn’t been for him, you were positive you wouldn’t have been able to get through to his son at all. “Whatever it was you said to him when he arrived, it must have deeply affected him.”

 _Luke needed to be pushed toward the truth, and I alone did not possess the strength to do it,_ he informed you. Then, after a pause, _...Was he the one who did that to your arm?_

“...He was,” you admitted reluctantly, wishing he’d have continued not to notice the wound. “But please don’t hold it against him— you know as well as I do that he wasn’t thinking clearly. He thought he was defending you, too.”

 _I am in no position to be holding grudges of any kind,_ Anakin reassured you. _I was merely concerned._

You nearly laughed. “You have nothing to be worried about— _I promise_. Now stop wasting what’s left of your energy on me; I’ll be out of here as soon as I can.” That wasn’t a lie, exactly, but you also weren’t in a rush to interrupt Luke’s own time with Anakin: You’d had an infinite amount of it with him compared to his son, and you knew it.

 _Will you remember the way I feel about you, when all of this is finally over?_ he asked somewhat unexpectedly, once again ignoring your disquiet as it related to his condition.

“Of course I will,” you said. How could you ever have forgotten Anakin in any capacity? The way he felt about you; the man he’d been in your presence... along with everything he’d given you, right down to the last dance you’d shared in that wonderful place he’d conceived with his mind for the sole purpose of being with you. He was inherently unforgettable, whether it was what he wanted or not. With more than a hint of the wry irreverence you’d both become comfortable displaying toward one another over the months, you asked him, “Didn’t you tell me I was supposed to forget about you once you were gone?”

 _...I admit to having misjudged both my impact on you, and my own worthiness in that regard,_ he confessed. _I apologize for it— and I now sincerely hope you won’t forget what we shared, however brief and ineffectual our time together might have seemed._

“It may have been brief,” you conceded, “but it was the farthest thing from ‘ineffectual’. I’ll never be the person I was before I met you, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 _The feeling is mutual,_ he said, which you’d always relished hearing him tell you. After that, he reminded you, _I never expected to experience what I experienced here with you ever again. **Thank you.**_

“Thank your son,” you said. “He saved you— and he brought us together.” Not only that, but he’d also found within himself the strength to let go of his father when it became imperative that he do so. If the story of the love you shared with Anakin had a hero, it couldn’t have been anybody but Luke. This was, really, almost entirely his doing.

 _I have, and before I leave, I will again,_ he agreed. You could hear the pride in his mind’s voice; he loved his son as much as his son loved him, and it showed. 

“Will I get to see you again?” you asked, because if you’d spoken to Obi-Wan in the woods, surely there was a way for Anakin to come back to you, too.

 _The power of the Force is endless,_ he told you ambiguously. Then, _I’ll never be far from you._

“I love you, Anakin,” you said in return. “I always will.” 

After that, he fell silent.

Somehow, you knew it was just about time you wrapped up your shower: As quickly as you ever had, you exited the little stall, dried yourself with haste, and dressed so you could rejoin Luke and his father.

You hoped that in spite of everything, they’d managed to say to one another all they felt needed to be said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He’s Anakin, so of course he bugs her in the shower. 
> 
> Once again, before you kill me out of sheer frustration with my pacing, the next chapter has already been posted. —>


	46. Strength

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 44, 45, and 46 are all new as of today (08/20). If you saw the update & just clicked to the last one, you may want to go on back to ensure you don’t miss anything.

By the time you reached the main part of the ship— the part of it where Anakin lay— Luke was starting to panic. The monitors were indicating that something was very wrong with his father, but that was entirely due to the fact that they were only computers: They didn’t know any better, because they couldn’t.

“I don’t know what to do,” said Luke, looking at you with desperation writ on his face.

“Hold him,” you implored. “The same way you did when you took off his mask on the Death Star.”

“How do you know—?”

 _”Just hold him,”_ you reiterated. “It won’t hurt him; not now.”

Luke obliged. He rose up from your chair, very carefully slid an arm beneath his father (overtop that damnable, cumbersome respirator of his), and hoisted him up so that he was half-sitting. His eyes were still closed, but you could see them moving beneath his lids; his mouth was tightly drawn, except for when he took one of his gasping, infrequent breaths. You stepped quickly over to the bed with yet another clean cloth, approached the side opposite Luke, and leaned down to begin to wipe the blood and phlegm away from Anakin’s face. His son didn’t have a spare hand with which to do it now that he was holding him; anyway, you wanted to be close to Anakin— you always wanted to be close to him.

“Father,” whispered Luke, followed by nothing. He didn’t seem to know what to say.

“We love you,” you said for him, as you touched Anakin’s face. You’d always loved his face; it was difficult to imagine that there had ever been a time at which he hadn’t wanted you to so much as look at it. It occurred to you that he had never actually let you get a clear view of his features as they’d been before he’d burned, when you’d spent time together in your dreams... but, that didn’t bother you; not even a bit. What he used to look like didn’t matter— not when he was so beautiful to you just the way he was. His scars were a part of him; an integral piece of his life’s story. You could have run your fingers over them for eternity; would have been happy to wake up to the sight of his face every morning for the rest of time.

That, of course, couldn’t be... and it was this poorly-timed realization of a fact which should have been obvious that finally caused the tears stinging your eyes to start to fall. They streamed down your own face as you moved to kiss Anakin’s head; landed on him heedlessly as Luke’s arms began to tremble.

The monitors were still beeping wildly; again, they were prompting you to do something that couldn’t be done: Anakin’s body was hopelessly broken. It had been for a very long time; most of his life, in fact. You were glad he wasn’t wearing his suit; grateful that he didn’t have to die encased by something you knew he’d hated. He had always deserved better than to be reliant on it, but there was nothing you or his son could do to change that now.

All you could do while he died was hold him; love him... and so together, that was what you did. 

“It’s alright,” you said, through both your kisses and your tears. You’d always liked to tell Anakin that everything was alright; somehow, it felt more true now than it ever had. 

“Thank you, Father,” Luke finally managed to choke out. He was crying the same way you were; if anything, his own anguish was even more evident than yours. “I’ll always remember everything you taught me— _I promise not to forget.”_

He meant that; meant it with all his heart. You hoped Anakin understood the contribution he’d made to his son’s life; hoped he knew just how much of the person Luke was destined to become could be attributed to his care and wisdom. Then it occurred to you that you didn’t have to hope, because of course Anakin knew: His death alone was all the evidence anyone could have needed to plainly see what he’d given his child, because despite all he’d been through, it was a good death. A death imbued with warmth and devotion, two things he’d always deserved.

“I love you, Anakin,” you reminded him, the same way you’d told him from under the hot water just before the start of his final decline; just as you’d said to him when you’d kissed his lips for the first time, and as you’d assured him in every single one of your dreams together, too.

Eventually (it felt like a very long time, although it most probably wasn’t), the monitors stopped making noise, their screens indicating to you that they weren’t receiving any input: There was no information to be gleaned from the box set into Anakin’s chest; no heartbeat to measure, or breathing to assess. There was nothing now, because the man generating all of that data had ceased being a physical entity. 

He didn’t live in his body anymore; he didn’t _need_ his body anymore... and although you knew that this was most decidedly not the end of him, you suddenly felt very much alone. Luke must have felt the same way, because as he gently laid his father’s lifeless form back atop the gurney on which he’d spent the last months of his life, heaving sobs started to wrack his body. 

They began to wrack yours too, of course... and so after separating yourself from what used to be Anakin, you stepped unsteadily around the bed to meet Luke, where— even though you’d almost killed one another not an hour ago— you fell into each other’s arms and sank helplessly to the floor.

You’d stay that way; shaking and weeping, until you summoned the strength to lift your head to look at him, and ask just what it was members of the ancient Jedi order did to dispose of their dead.

Even now, you couldn’t imagine treating Anakin with anything other than utmost care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck. Writing that didn’t take me anywhere good, but I’m glad I managed to get it out.
> 
> There are still two chapters left to go, and they both contain information that I feel is pretty vital to the story as a whole. They’ll also (hopefully) act as a bit of a pick-me-up after the ridiculous amount of sorrow I just imposed on myself, and on you. I told a few different people that this was going to have a happy ending, and I certainly didn’t lie about that— even if it feels right now as though I did.
> 
> See you very soon, if you decide to stick around for the conclusion. Thank you so, so much for going through this with me; it means a lot.


	47. Final Journey

“I’ve never done this before,” you said.

“Neither have I,” Luke told you sympathetically, “but this is what they used to do.”

You nodded. “Alright. Let’s get it done, then.”

The two of you had spent the better part of the past day cutting and gathering wood for the purpose of immolating Anakin’s remains. You’d built up logs and twigs and branches of varying sizes into an enormous pyre, and were now back inside of the ship negotiating just how you were going to get Luke’s father outside and up on top of it.

As you knelt down to release the locks holding the gurney in place, it occurred to you that this was the one and only time you would ever get to experience taking Anakin outside. You’d offered to do it before; had even tried to fix his helmet so that he could breathe the moon’s atmosphere, but he had refused. You more than understood; knew that for him, nothing was worth putting that mask back on... but, you were nonetheless saddened by the knowledge that you would never get to sit with him and look at the sky, or listen to the birds. You thought he might have liked the birds.

You’d turned the temperature in the room down, both to preserve the integrity of Anakin’s body while you worked, and because it simply wasn’t necessary to keep the space heated for the sake of his comfort anymore. You’d become accustomed to his preference with regard to the ambient warmth, though, and so to you the chill in that part of the ship felt close to unbearable. 

“We won’t all fit inside the airlock with the gurney,” you said, “so you go in with him first, and then wait for me outside.”

“Okay,” answered Luke, and you both began to wheel the person you’d each loved more than anyone else in the galaxy away from the spot in which he’d spent the final year of his life. As Luke and what was left of his father disappeared behind the large, sliding doors, you turned around to survey the newly-emptied space. The computers and monitors remained, although they had all been switched off; your chair was still there, too, but it was pushed up to the desk now because there was no reason for it to be anywhere else. The room itself was as spotlessly clean as it had ever been; however, the harsh disinfectants and tubes of bacta ointment you’d once kept at the ready were now mostly stowed away. 

All of this only served to remind you of the finality of Anakin’s death, which was enough to prompt a fresh, rolling wave of grief to crash into you. You bit down hard on your own lip— now was not the time to cry— and then you walked over to your desk, because you knew there was something you had nearly forgotten.

“I still think I did a good job,” you said to no one who could hear you, as you very gingerly lifted Anakin’s repaired mask up from the surface. You’d put it away in a cupboard after coming to understand the strength of his objection to it; however, you and Luke had dressed him in the remnants of his suit after washing and otherwise preparing his body to make its final journey off of the ship. This was the only piece left; the only part of his armour he was not currently wearing. You’d even put his cape back onto him— it was long, flowing, and not entirely unlike the robes he’d been wearing when the two of you had danced in your dreams. Luke had afforded you the honour of fastening around his neck the fine chain which had once held it in place; somehow, to do that had been comforting.

You heard the sound of the airlock’s outer door sliding shut at that point, which indicated to you that Luke was now outside waiting for you to follow him. You paused before doing so to take one last look around, because you’d grown so used to the set of routines which had comprised caring for and being with Anakin that you felt lost without them. The remaining vestiges of familiarity surrounding you right now were reassuring, even if the sight of them did give you cause to repress a new onslaught of tears. 

As you finally turned and stepped into the airlock yourself, mask in hand, you found yourself wondering exactly where Anakin’s spiritual essence had drifted off to after his body had expired. You hadn’t seen or heard or felt even a trace of him; not since he left, and in spite of his having told you that he would never be far away, you certainly felt right now as though he were unreachable. 

“Where have you gone?” you asked aloud; again, to no one who could hear you. 

When you didn’t receive an answer, you only tightened your grip on the helmet; held it close to your chest as you waited for the door leading into the woods to open up for you. No matter what Anakin had left you with (all things considered, he’d left you with plenty), you knew that nothing could ever have rivalled actually having him at your side.

That truth made it incredibly easy to understand his son’s desperate, ultimately futile drive to force him to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied again; the actual ending wound up being two chapters. The next one is already there, and in the coming days I’ll add an epilogue for anyone who’s into that. For now, click ahead for the ‘funeral’, if that’s what you want to call it.
> 
> (Also, I got a not-so-new tablet a couple of weeks back, and I can’t seem to access Tumblr properly with whatever version of Safari I’m now stuck with. I can scroll, but I can’t message or post or ‘heart’ things. I’ll endeavour to remedy the problem very soon; for now, rest assured that I’m not ignoring you if you’ve sent me something through that particular medium.)


	48. Daybreak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The date is August 24th, and as of today, both this chapter and the one preceding it are new.

“Goodbye, Father,” said Luke solemnly, holding a lit torch up to the bottom of the pyre you’d built together, and igniting the kindling which had been placed around its base. It was nighttime; the flames spread quickly, stood out sharply against the darkness, and made the foliage around you glow warmly in a way that was almost beautiful.

“We’ll miss you,” you added, as you continued to clutch in your hands the helmet Anakin had disdained so much. He might have hated it, but it had been so close to him for so much of his life that setting it down was now proving to be a challenge for you. In the absence of any sign of his spiritual essence, all you felt you could do was hold on tightly to what you still had... and the only thing available for you to hold right now just so happened to be what he’d once worn over his face. You already missed Anakin’s face.

Luke had wanted to burn the device. He’d thought that to incinerate the mask of the man who had once been known as Darth Vader was symbolically appropriate, given that he’d died a good person as opposed to the galactic tyrant he’d been made to pretend to be. Perhaps he was correct, but your perspective on the matter was slightly different: You thought it should remain in-tact; not only because he’d never have let you put it back onto him in the first place in life, but because you felt the need to retain some tangible evidence of his redemption. 

Who would have believed you, after all, if you’d told them about Darth Vader’s true nature? No one; not, anyway, without something to prove how close you’d been to him. Whether you or Luke retained possession of the mask really didn’t matter; the fact of its existence, you thought, could prove useful in the future if either of you ever found yourselves having to verify or vindicate your connection to Anakin. Besides, you knew that something made partially of durasteel would never turn entirely to ash— if someone with dishonourable intent were to ever find it without context, they might well use it as an excuse or justification for the type of behaviour Anakin himself would have found abhorrent.

It wouldn’t find itself placed on any sort of macabre shrine, nor would it ever be used as a political football— not so long as someone who had known and loved its previous owner kept it for themselves. Luke had seemed to understand your point; hence why you were holding it right now, and for that you were immensely grateful.

“I’ll always honour you, Father— honour the man I knew you were all along.” Luke stood beside you and stared at the pyre as he spoke; the now-raging fire illuminating him combined with the words he spoke to make him seem wise beyond his years. Anakin would have been proud. “I won’t let time extinguish the values espoused by the Jedi,” he continued. “I’m going to build the Order back up again; make sure it returns to its duty of defending peace and justice for as long as I’m alive.” With a deep breath, he finished, “And I promise to do it all in your name.”

When you were sure he’d finished speaking, you took your turn in addressing the inferno, “Thank you, Anakin— thank you for letting me know you. I’ll hold onto everything you’ve ever given me for the rest of my life.” You took a deep breath of your own before adding in a voice that came out sounding shakier than you might have liked, “I love you, and I’ll never, _ever_ forget you.” You were glad he’d changed his mind about that— you could never have forgotten what you shared with Anakin, especially not now.

You stood silently after that; stood for a very long time, until the fire had enveloped the armour and the man inside of it entirely. It glowed brighter than ever; by the time you’d ceased being able to distinguish the form in its midst, Luke had turned to you.

“You’ll come with me now, won’t you?” he asked. “I have an ancient institution to rebuild, and I don’t see how I can do it by myself.”

“I think you’ll manage,” you told him, which you really did believe— if anyone could accomplish such a feat, it was Anakin Skywalker’s son. “Besides that, I can’t be a Jedi.” You couldn’t; you knew there was simply no way.

“But I promised to train you,” argued Luke. “If I don’t do that, how am I supposed to repay you for what you’ve done for my father? Not only did you care for him; you loved him— loved him when he needed to be loved.” 

That may well have been true, but... “No,” you reiterated, shaking your head. “I can’t join you.” You thought for a moment before adding, “If you really want to thank me, you can let me take the ship.” You hadn’t had one prior to coming here; if you went with Luke in his, you knew you’d end up trapped wherever he happened to drop you off. You needed both a way to travel and a place to live now more than ever.

It was clear that Luke didn’t like your answer; however, he seemed to know better than to try to argue with you about it. “...Alright,” he conceded. “You can take the ship. But I wish you would reconsider—”

 _”Luke,”_ you interrupted, peering past him into the darkness of the woods. You could hardly believe your eyes. 

“What? I—”

“Luke, look— _look over there.”_ You pointed in the direction of your own gaze as he turned. 

Standing at the edge of a cluster of trees were three translucent, ethereal figures: One of them was tiny, and obviously very old; another was Anakin’s friend and former Master, Obi-wan Kenobi (you’d only met him once, but you’d have known him anywhere). The third was a man you wouldn’t have recognized if you hadn’t been able to feel him; however, the energy he gave off was unmistakable. He smiled broadly as tears blurred your vision anew.

“Father,” whispered Luke, and the apparition only continued to grin. He seemed incredibly happy; in fact, you’d scarcely ever seen him look so joyful— not while he’d been alive.

“Anakin,” you said, and you tucked his mask under your arm; raised a hand to offer him a wave. 

He looked down at himself and then back up at the two of you; appeared to very much appreciate being whole again: There was no box set into his chest; no respirator to weigh him down. His limbs were actually made of him, and his scars had all but disappeared. On top of all of that, he was _so young_... and objectively very beautiful. Of course, you’d always thought of him that way: He’d have had absolutely nothing to fear by showing you this version of himself in your dreams together, and you hoped he understood that now. You’d have loved Anakin with your whole heart, no matter what he looked like.

It was approaching daybreak by now, and as the sun began to make itself evident on the horizon, the three ghosts faded away. You didn’t mind that Anakin hadn’t said anything; he didn’t need to say anything— you knew he was happy, and to you that was the only thing that mattered. You asked Luke who the little one was once they were gone, and he told you about Yoda; in turn, you shared with him your brief encounter with Obi-wan, back when his father had still been alive. 

“He looked peaceful,” you said of Anakin when you finished exchanging stories, which was significant to you because even when you’d been mired in your love for one another, he had never seemed to be entirely at peace.

Luke nodded. “He did— and I have you to thank for it.”

“It wasn’t only me,” you smiled. “I hope you understand how proud you’ve made him.”

“I do,” confirmed Luke. “Or at least, I think I’m starting to.”

You placed a hand on his shoulder at that, and the two of you turned back toward the pyre; watched for a time as the flames continued to roar. Eventually they would shrink and extinguish themselves; leaving only memories, ashes, and the charred remnants of a suit of armour forged by cruelty and hatred. It couldn’t hurt anybody anymore, least of all the person who had been trapped inside it for far too long. 

Anakin was not trapped; not anymore.

The power of the Force was, indeed, endless... and similarly, the _true_ identity of ‘Darth Vader’ wouldn’t end up being lost to time or myth. 

You smiled to yourself despite your grief, because you knew that where he was now, Anakin would never have to use the word ‘Master’ ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “BuT LuKe OnLy BuRnS tHe ArMoUr!1!1!!”
> 
> I don’t really care what Legends or the internet or even George Lucas himself says: There is clearly a body in the suit when Luke drags it off of the Death Star in ROTJ, and it’s quite obviously still there when we’re shown the flaming pyre in the following scene. I can’t think of anything that could possibly lessen the impact of that part of the story more than claiming the body dissolved into the Force and that the cremation is not actually a cremation. 😒
> 
> Besides, how much of the poor guy is even organic by the time of his death? Half of him, at best? Does the chest-box stay? The respirator; the limbs? The mere idea of writing Reader and Luke laying out all the loose pieces in order like some morbid, weird-ass puzzle (or even implying that they did) is just... no.
> 
> I’ve always hated, hated, _hated_ the notion that Anakin’s body was not present in that scene, and I absolutely refuse to make it a part of this story. 🤷 Hooray for fanfiction! 
> 
> Anyway, the epilogue will be up within the next couple days for anyone who is interested in it (I won’t be salty if you’re not; I’ve already pretty much told the story I wanted to tell); after that, it’s actually entirely over. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this— I never think anything I write is going to resonate with anybody but myself, so the response has kind of blown me away. You are absolutely fantastic, whoever you might happen to be.
> 
> May the Force be with you! <3


	49. Nothing Less

_”I just don’t get it. He didn’t— I mean, he couldn’t—”_

_”Believe me, Luke— I don’t really understand it, either. But what did he always say about the power of the Force?”_

...

You’d known for weeks before Anakin had died; sometimes you wondered if he had known, too. How could he not have? You never had brought it up with him, nor he with you... not, of course, that any of it mattered now: Your daughter was here, and that was that.

“Hey, you,” you said gently, as you sat down carefully on the floor in front of her. “Look at this.” She was only an infant; however, her eyes lit up when she noticed the swirling configuration of ground-up tea leaves floating just above the palm of your hand. When she smiled at it, you returned her expression and said, “Your father thought this was silly— or at least, he said he did. What do _you_ think?”

She didn’t answer you with words (she couldn’t yet), but she did reach out to swat at what you’d conjured. When the little ‘planets’ came apart and the tea you’d used to construct them fell into a scattered pile in front of you, you brushed your hand off on your pants and leaned in to kiss her head. Acquiring more tea was not a problem for you any longer; even if it had been, the toothless grin which spread across your baby’s face as she destroyed your little attempt at entertaining her was more than worth the loss of a few dark, fragrant leaves.

“That’s about what I figured,” you laughed, and began to gather what you could of the mess back up into your hand. As you got up from the floor to dispose of it, you looked down at her and added, “He’d have loved to meet you, you know.”

She wasn’t paying attention to you anymore by then; had busied herself with one of the toys she’d been gifted by her older brother before you had given birth to her. You hadn’t seen Luke since before she’d arrived, but you had exchanged several transmissions with him. You knew that he was quite enthusiastic about your little one developing the abilities you were both certain she had inherited. You understood his drive; were sure that at some point she would opt to go off and explore her own connection to the Force... but, it was far from something you were prepared to push her into doing: Her father, after all, hadn’t had much of a childhood; it seemed important to you to give her what nobody had been able to give him.

After getting rid of the spent tea, you walked over to the entrance of what was now your home, and peered at the trees outside. In spite of the Empire’s having fallen more than a year prior, you had found upon leaving the moon on which you’d cared for Anakin that political turbulence still ran rampant throughout the galaxy. You’d chosen a very green, sparsely-inhabited planet situated in the far-reaches of the outer rim on which to give birth; had stayed there following your child’s arrival because it seemed safer than stepping back into the fray of the aftermath of Endor. There were gangs and rogues and criminals in the few cities that existed here; however, they were mostly concerned with themselves, and with those who owed them credits or materials. 

You didn’t owe anyone anything, and nobody here knew what you’d been doing before you’d come. The people in the surrounding villages needed the type of services you were adept at providing, and they were grateful for your presence. All things considered, you felt secure.

The place in which you now lived was rural; almost rustic, really, but you liked it that way. You had welcomed your daughter into the world by yourself in a small-yet-comfortable shelter of your own design (the Force had been of immense help in constructing it, along with Obi-wan’s former weapon). While the experience had been somewhat harrowing, you’d known all along that you more than possessed the ability to do what needed to be done to ensure your baby’s safety. Besides that, you also knew you hadn’t been alone.

You were _never_ alone, and no matter what happened, you were positive that you never would be.

Since you and Luke had burned his body you hadn’t seen him, but oftentimes you could feel him; catch a trace of his energy at the periphery of your consciousness. Sometimes it was while you were caring for the daughter you shared with him; at others it was while you were making the tea he’d considered so unnecessary. Frequently, it was while you were alone in your bed. 

Once in a while, you would even dream of him. 

The dreams weren’t like the ones you’d had together while he’d still been alive; not really... but, they were beautiful nonetheless, and you always embraced them; treasured them. Every time you woke with tears in your eyes or his name on your lips (or both), you knew exactly what had happened while you’d been asleep, and you were consistently grateful for it.

There were times at which you would start to doubt that he was near; it was in those moments of grief and desolation that you were sure you could feel him most strongly. Occasionally it would even seem as though he were standing right beside you, although he never was there when you actually looked. You supposed that was for the best; to see him without being able to touch him would have been painful... and anyway, you didn’t need to see Anakin to know he had been telling the truth about never going too far away.

If the Force willed it, perhaps you would even find yourselves in each other’s arms again one day, dancing in a way neither of you had ever danced with anybody else.

For now, though, you had your child to hold onto— a child who had been conceived in a manner that to most other people would have seemed incomprehensible; unbelievable. Her mere existence was a testament to the truth of what Anakin had always told you about the reach and breadth of the Force’s power, and you knew you would have her forever; protect her until she no longer needed protecting.

Whether she would eventually decide to go off to learn from her brother, opt to stay and practice medicine with you, or leave you both and do something else entirely didn’t really matter: Again, she was here... and she was loved. You loved her, and her father loved her too, whether either of you could see him or not.

The baby made a noise, then; drew you out of your thoughts and back into your present reality. She had crawled across the room, having found herself drawn to a chest you kept locked up in the corner. Inside of it were several items which held significance for you; amongst them was the mask her father had worn over his face for the better part of his life. You would always be thankful to Luke for having let you keep it. You hadn’t shown it to your daughter; not yet, but you knew that when it was time for her to see it, you would be more than prepared to explain to her its significance. 

More than a symbol of hatred or wrath, that old helmet was something which to you represented hope, love, and redemption. You believed that your child should grow up with the knowledge that absolution was never unattainable, regardless of how far a person’s pain or fear had taken them from the Light.

Anakin, for all his mistakes, had ultimately been a bastion of compassion and love; it had emanated strongly from him, and had informed every choice he’d ever made of his own accord. If she knew that too, then maybe she would be able to emulate the very best of what had made him the person you had adored so fervently.

You wanted that for her, simply because she deserved nothing less.

Smiling, you picked her up from in front of the chest, and held her as closely to you as you’d never quite been fortunate enough to hold her father. “I love you,” you told her happily, because you did; wholly, and more than anything else in the galaxy. She looked up at you and grinned right back; she was a joyful baby, and (much like her father, once you’d come to understand him) was never shy about letting you know just how she felt.

You might not have been able to see him, but wherever he was, you were positive that Anakin was smiling, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s that. Hope you liked it as much as I did (let’s face it, you knew a Force-baby was coming); if you didn’t, that’s alright... but, it’s how I wanted to end it from the very beginning, without being entirely sure how or even if I’d be able to get it there.
> 
> Frankly, I couldn’t be happier that I managed it.
> 
> Stay well! I had a fantastic time writing this story. :)
> 
> ETA: One of you was kind enough to ask for a one-shot follow-up, so here is [Lineage](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26151091).


End file.
